An Origin and an Ending
by C'estMoiLiz
Summary: When Blake sees Bane is still alive and living in rural England, hedelves into the past Bane shares with Grace Clarke. He and Bruce uncover a story that exposes an undeniably human side to the terrorist, forcing them to challenge every thought they've had about villains and monsters. And of course there remains the question: what next? Bane/OC
1. Prologue Part 1

**Prologue (Part One)**

**_I know that things are broken_**

**_I know there's too many words left unsaid_**

**_But please, don't cry_**

**_You liar_**

**_[Mumford and Sons – Liar]_**

_2012_

'I just want to talk to him.'

There is silence down the phone – but eventually, the woman with the soft, French accent and the dangerous words evidently leaves. There is a small crackle – phone being passed hand to hand – and an odd, hollow breathing comes down the receiver.

'Bane? Bane it's me.'

There is silence. She squeezes her eyes shut, frustration in the creases of her forehead. Finally she chews at her lips and starts up,

'I know I can't stop you. I'm not asking you to stop. I just…' She trails off, desperately wiping at the tears on her face. 'I love you,' she tells him, her voice cracking. 'And I miss you. Whatever you do, or whatever you've done – you can always come _home_.'

There's silence. When his voice starts up it sounds different – all his East-end roughage is gone, replaced by a drawling snarl and the horrible echo that she can't place.

'You never came to get me.'

Her breath hitches in her throat and she wills herself not to get angry.

'You told me not to,' she whispers.

'Your name is Grace. It means saviour. But you left me in the darkness – I rose helped by one another and I am stronger for it –'

'You _know _that's not my name, Bane!' She cut across him, her voice half desperate and half the same old irritation she'd always felt for him.

He is silent. She hears him swallow.

'Remember my _actual _name,' she tells him quietly. 'Remember what it means.'

He is silent. Then he tells her softly,

'I have to go.'

He sounds normal – the Bane she knew – in that moment. Then there's the same crackle of phone being passed hand to and the French girl is spitting again.

'_What did you say to him_?'

'Nothing,' she responds, heaving a sigh. 'I… I didn't say anything. Goodbye.'

**A/N: To regular readers – I just wanted to add this moment in, really. It takes place just before Bane starts going apeshit on Gotham.**

**To new readers – hello! I hope you enjoy it :) Don't forget to review.**


	2. Prologue Part 2

He's only been in England for two weeks when he sees them.

He's only been working with Bruce – or more, working on Bruce's behalf, because the man still prefers the sunny streets of Florence and giving him orders down the phone to trawling the nastier end of Gotham – for two years when it happens.

Four years since Bane and Marion and herding kids onto a school bus. Four years since Gotham's reckoning, a monster in a mask and the "death" of Batman. He remembers the day Bruce turned up on his doorstep, revealed he was still alive with Selina peering over his shoulder, pinching Blake's cheek as the pair sauntered into his crummy apartment just south of Gotham city.

Blake – a name he still prefers to go by, because Robin's become his alter-ego now and Bruce told him to _keep them separate _– is sure England is famed for its poor weather. Which is why he can't understand the stuffy heat, slowing him down and fogging his thoughts. Cold weather would clear his mind, sharpen everything up so he could think and fight – but he was on holiday and God knows he needs to relax. He's just seen a rather disappointing Stone Henge – _all mud and some rocks_, he thinks bitterly – and has stopped at some odd little National Trust place for cream tea. He feels fantastically, stereotypically British, and even discusses the weather with the pretty girl on the cash register – just for kicks, of course.

This isn't his kind of holiday. _His _kind of holiday is canoeing down the Ardeche or trekking through Morocco – but when _Batman _hands you an airplane ticket to London and tells you to_ take a break_, you damn well take a break. So he's wandered through the landmarks of England, chattering to strangers on trains and getting good use of a waterproof he bought years ago. He's been here two weeks and he's almost started to grow fond of leafy back streets and trains that never run on time. _But it's time to go home_, he decides as he puts away his book and stands to leave.

He almost misses him.

It's justifiable; he looks completely different. Half the size he was, a thatch of golden-ginger hair on his head. The mask's gone, but the grim scars attract stares; Blake feels a little sick to look at them. The patchwork nature of his skin is part horrific, part artwork – but anything's better than the mask. His scars obviously paining him without it, because he's speaking in sign language to his companion. Blake still can't get over how he's shrunk; it's as if the muscle's melted away, leaving him skinny and well-built rather than the towering gargantuan he used to be.

So Blake would have walked straight past if it weren't for those striking, navy blue eyes. There was no way he could miss them – no way he could forget them.

He stands stock-still for a good thirty seconds, throat run dry, heart hammering as he checks and double-checks. He hasn't felt fear like this in a long while – because it's obvious by the way muscles nudge up against the shirt the man's wearing that he could still snap Blake like a twig if the whim took him. The question was whether the whim _would _– or even still _could _– take him.

Once he's sure who it is he's staring at, he edges behind some shrubbery and carefully pulls out his phone – some high-tech gadget Bruce gave him that he's still not sure how to use. He hasn't seen Blake yet; he's watching the blonde sat across from him talk and eat, signing in return. They look remarkably mundane, the pair – they could be anyone, holidaying in the countryside, escaping from the bustles of city life. Or a married couple, their kids off causing havoc just round the corner. Blake's hands are sweating.

He considers taking a photo but realizes he can go one better; a few buttons later and he's taking a video. A leaf is blocking his view so he scowls, readjusting and eventually stepping out onto the noisy gravel.

It's then that Bane sees him and for a few, painful moments they just watch each other, the phone still recording.

Then Bane's hands rise and he signs something – the same thing three times, then something difference just once. It's not until the blonde woman sat opposite him turns to stare at Blake that he pushes into a sprint, away from the patchwork-faced Madman and his new, normal life.

Bruce is on speed dial – number one, _of course _– but he doesn't pick up. It's only once Blake reaches the hire car that he takes a long, shaky breath and drops the phone with trembling fingers onto the passenger seat. He's never been scared like this – maybe because the threat is unknown. He doesn't know if Bane's planning a family or mass destruction, a new revolution for middle class Britain. So he drives ten, twenty miles and finds himself in some little town he's never heard of; it's quiet and obscure so it feels safe to sit in a car park and ring Bruce.

'Blake,' he answers the phone in that usual smooth, billionaire tone. Confident, self-assured. He hears heels clicking back and forth in the background and guesses Selina is over his boss's shoulder. The Cat burglar – Catwoman, Blake's taking to calling her in his mind – likes him, treats him like a kid brother, so he feels oddly comforted by her presences as he stutters out,

'It's B-Bane. He's here – I just saw him.'

A small pause – then, calm, collected Bruce told him,

'Impossible. Selina went to his funeral to make sure he was dead.'

'It's _definitely _him, Bruce; we recognized each other. Hang on – I'll send you the video.'

They say nothing to each other as they wait for the video to send – he hears a quiet hum of voices, Bruce relaying the story to Selina, and when Blake speaks again the odd echo of his words tell him he's on speaker phone.

'Bruce?' He eventually asks, sounding fiercely child-like in that moment. The other voice comes back, rapid and quick-fire.

'Who's the woman?'

'I'm not sure – she was sat there with him. It was willing, I'm sure; she didn't look scared or upset,' Blake explains hurriedly. Another few seconds of meditative silence, and Bruce eventually speaks,

'I'll analyse the video and send you the details. Check out of your hotel and go to another town – I'll sort out your visa. Change hotels every two weeks, don't let them see you and find everything you can about the woman.'

And suddenly his holiday has turned into another job – and he wouldn't mind if he wasn't so scared. Bruce has hung up and he flicks back to the video clip on his phone. It's only about six seconds long so he watches over and over, sat in his car with his feet lazily resting on the dashboard. When he pauses it he realizes that Bane looks _old_, too; not really old, but with out the smooth, plastic look before. He's got pinches of crows-feet on his forehead and laughter lines running round his mouth. He looks delicate, too, without the mask – laughably vulnerable, with full, pretty lips and a soft smile as he looks at the woman, just before he spots Blake and his camera phone.

He pauses again on the slightly grainy image of the woman. Her face is incredibly gentle, lips full – like Bane's, and he wonders if they're related – and wide eyes grey. She looks a mixture of happy and worried; the video's caught her in between expressions, creating an odd mix of an upturned mouth and crinkled eyebrows. She's dressed simply but well and Blake can imagine that she compliments Bane with her softness – her fragility.

Stomach churning with guilt at the idea of watching her, Blake clicks his phone off and promises he'll translate Bane's sign language at some point.

* * *

It's a week until Blake gets another call from Bruce. He's been in the shower for an hour, watching water droplets roll down his arm and letting his mind wander.

He's pretty sure the girl knows they're being watched – she came over and asked him for the time on Thursday; he took on the best cover he could, telling her to _fuck off _in a rough English accent. Her voice had been clear and soft, though thick with an Irish accent; he'd texted Bruce the information two minutes after their short-lived conversation.

'Hello?' Blake mumbles, trying to juggle a towel, his phone and a toothbrush all at once

'The girl; her name is Agraciana Molony – she goes by the name of Grace Clarke, and has done since age seventeen. I need you to find out everything you can about her and any prior connections she has with Bane. I expect an update every two weeks – don't worry if at some points you have nothing new to say. I'll call when I next need you.'

And with that quick bout of instructions, the elusive Bruce Wayne is gone. Blake had seen moments where the man was caring – even borderline fatherly – but when it came to jobs and tactics and _emergencies_, he was cold and to the point. It was efficient, but Blake felt that from time to time some reassurance wouldn't go amiss –

'Oh, and Robin?'

Blake blanches at the use of his alter-ego, and makes a small _mm _noise in the back of his throat to show he's still listening.

'Good luck. Don't do anything stupid.'

And the Batman hangs up.

_Aha,_ Blake thinks, _there it is._

* * *

It takes another year. There's been too many of those recently and Blake's started to feel old. It hasn't reached his bones but there are the shallower puffs of air when he's been running for too long or his Doctor telling him to keep an eye on his cholesterol. Just little, nudging pointers towards his growing age.

He's been dipping in and out of England when he's not doing jobs for Bruce (and finally, _finally _doing jobs _with _Bruce). He's been working on his little research project, flicking through archives, visiting schools and collecting Doctors' reports, downloading website information he's not technically (_legally_) allowed to look at. But finally he's done, a year later, and he travels up the country to Wayne Manor with the file carefully tucked under his arm.

There are hugs from Selina and a gentle clap on the back from Bruce. They pretend pleasantries for a while. But eventually they go to the BatCave and the file is on the desk; after some banter and some car talk, they get down to the serious stuff as Bruce studies the file.

'Do you think he's still a threat?' Bruce asks absently, seemingly reluctant to open the file in front of him. Blake shrugs; he hasn't seen the couple in three months, only occasionally listening in on the bugs he slipped into their small house in Wiltshire.

'It's impossible to tell – he's living a normal life. But he could spring back out there at any time.' Blake pauses, swallows nervously. 'He doesn't wear the mask any more.' Here, Bruce perks up; it's something Blake's never mentioned in any of his reports and it sounds important when it's out there in the open. 'Only sometimes, to relieve the pain when they're in private, when it gets bad – she doesn't like it –'

'She?' Bruce cuts in, eyes sharp now, curious, as if he hadn't read a single one of Blake's reports for the past three months, has no clue the couple are still together. More likely, Blake reasons, he finds it interesting that _she _holds a modicum of control in their relationship.

'Agraciana Molony. They seem pretty… Normal.'

Bruce nods slowly, eyes on the file, screwing up his mouth in thought. When Blake says his goodbyes he's barely there, clearly waiting for Robin to leave before he opens up the file. Yet even when he knows Blake's car is out the driveway he doesn't open it. He waits, goes to have dinner with his wife, watches bad television and discusses the pros and cons of _How I Met Your Mother_ with her as she wears his Grandmother's priceless pearls. It's not until Selina's fast asleep by his side that he takes out the file.

At around the same time, in his own home, Blake is remembering a vow he made to himself a year ago and pulling up a video on his phone.

Bruce runs his hands over the file. Blake taps words into google, searches and searches. Finally he finds what he's wants, makes a translation of the words Bane – _monster lover murderer boyfriend _– spelled out with his hands.

Blake stares down at the three words he's scribbled onto his hand. He feels a little sick.

_PLEASE._

Bruce puts on his reading glasses.

_I'M SORRY._

He opens the file.

* * *

**A/N: Whew! This is a long one because I wanted to get the prologue over and done with, letting us get onto the juicy bits. This story takes a bit of explanation; when Bruce is reading the file, he'll be looking at interviews, school reports, etc. etc. that link to the events that you, as the reader, will be reading. Obviously he won't be reading the detailed narrative that you will – but I wanted to link Bane and Grace's past (Bane's 'origin'… See what I did there? Eh?) to Bruce and Blake, and I thought this was the best way to do it. (It's an interesting technique I picked up from a very good Community fanfiction where someone is telling the story to the characters and the reader gets an expanded version of this story). **

**I hope you like it! It should be pretty interested as I have to get in details of the Bane we see in the movie into his past; this is more the story of how Bane becomes the terrorist he is. I want to give you readers a degree of choice in how the story reads so (if you're still here after this horribly long AN)…**

**Please review! Whether you enjoyed or not, I want to hear from you guys. :) **


	3. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_Agraciana Clarke and 'Bane'. Ref. no.: 0876_

_First Meeting: 2__nd__ September, 1998_

She was different from the other girls, that much was obvious as soon as she appeared, as if from nowhere, on the school grounds. She dressed _rich _– always a mistake in East London. She turned up on the first day of school wearing all pastels and a polka dot, _pleated _skirt. Shiny, brand new brogues rubbed at her feet and she looked _rich_. So they thought she was.

It took a few days for him to realise she wore those brogues – brown and well-polished – all the time, no matter whether they matched what she was wearing. And a few days later the collar of one of her jumpers was turned over; he could see there was no label. No brands or logos on any of her clothes, actually. The hem lines on her skirts were wonky, sometimes white clothes had ugly black stitching, and he eventually realised. And he felt _sorry _for her, because there was poor (which they all were), and then there was making your own clothes poor. Which was one step away from living in a cardboard box poor.

But on the first day he didn't know all those things, and so when he saw Grace wander past, looking a little lost, he saw a rich girl. There was a flutter of jealousy in his stomach – because what he would do with money would blow that girl's mind, blow them all out of the water – and something close to lust, too. She had an odd face, al cheekbones and unexpected softness and too-big, staring, grey eyes – but he liked her lips. They looked gentle and curved, full and kissable. That little, nervous smile played about her lips as a cleaner held open the door for her, bringing another kick; _jealousy,_ because that cleaner would sooner spit on him than hold open a door, and _lust_, because she had a pretty smile that crinkled her eyes up playfully.

There were four of them sat on the steps outside school, chain-smoking, wearing knock-off leather jackets and pretend Converses. They rolled their own because it was cheaper and used matches because they couldn't afford lighters. They were, communally, as an entire school, _poor as shit_, as his year nine English teacher had put it.

She sat in front of him in maths and he glared at her the whole way through, because she _confused _him. She answered her name in the register with a polite _yes, Miss_. She didn't cuss and spit at the teachers like the other girls did. She didn't smoke inside and use her desk as an ashtray; she kept her head down and even did the work the teacher put on the board. He remembers last time a rich kid descended to their school because Daddy worked up too many debts; he had constantly tried to work through the noise, looking more and more distracted, until eventually breaking and shouting for everyone to _shut up! _He'd lasted two more days.

Yet this girl seemed fine, able to concentrate despite the steadily rising noise. He leaned forward in his chair when he saw her no longer writing and spotted a page of neatly finished equations. She didn't _seem _like the usual rich kid.

When he saw the teacher rise to collect the girl's book he leaned back in his seat, lazily turning his textbook to completely the wrong page, at least pretending to do some work. But the teacher had taught this class through O-Levels and was teaching half of the _insufferable twats _(her own words) through A Levels too, and was used to them making no effort.

He carefully timed a visit to the bin to sharpen his pencil with the teacher returning the girl's book, throwing it down with a low _slap _on her desk. Even from the bin he could see the page was half red pen, half green, and she scowled to herself, picking up a rubber and starting all over again.

Which, in a school like theirs with students like theirs, was fascinating.

For a moment he was caught up watching her as she nervously went through an equation she didn't understand at the end of the lesson, going on to ask for directions to the English block. He was distracted, however, by his girlfriend, a pretty girl with thin lips and a promiscuous personality. Her name was Tamara.

'She looks like a right cunt, doesn't she?' She laughed loudly at the swish of a retreating polka dot skirt. He looked down at his girlfriend's loud, colourful clothing, clashing oddly with her dark skin, and nodded, slipping an arm around her waist as they left the classroom.

He didn't see her again until the end of the day. He spent his free period laughing at page 3 of the sun with his friends. He slept his way through wood shop theory and he spent most of his sports theory lesson discussing an upcoming party with someone halfway across the room. He managed to pretty much put the new girl out of his mind – yet, when he saw the cluster of people screaming and cheering in a tight ring, he thought of her.

Cautiously approaching the group of mainly girls, their screeches nearly deafening, the huddle eventually parted for him. There was a heated tangle of bodies for a moment, but he slowly reached the inner circle where one of his friends was stood, laughing and cheering all at once.

'Your girlfriend is mental!' His friend called out over the din, and the scene before him finally sunk in. His girlfriend, pretty, promiscuous Tamara, was currently holding Grace up by the front of her pastel blue jumper, screaming into her face. Just as the girl was pushed to the floor and Tamara's hand raised, Bane decided perhaps now was time to intervene.

In all honesty, he would have quite enjoyed seeing the new girl roughed up a bit – it would be interesting to see if she could hold her own. However, his friend had been right; his girlfriend _was _mental, and he was getting enough stick for it as it was. If Tamara went to town on some kid half her size he'd never hear the end of it – and besides, if she got expelled they'd probably break up and he'd be waving goodbye to his sex life.

So he stepped forward, into the fray, and pressed a gentle hand on his girlfriend's shoulder. He wasn't physically stopping her – the fist was still raised – but she recognised the gentle presence and turned. For a moment all you could hear was the two girls' heavy breathing, until his rough voice broke the quiet,

'Sharpe's coming.'

That enough was to break the spell, and the circle swiftly scattered. He bent down to press a firm kiss on Tamara's lips, then smacked her behind, earning a giggle.

'Now off with you, before Sharpe decides to kick you out once and for all,' he chuckled, watching as Tamara hurried away. Finally he turned to Grace, crumpled on the floor, inspecting a graze on her knee with a slight frown.

'Y'alright?' He mumbled, barely coherent as he stuck his hands in his pockets, a mixture of disdain, want and guilt rumbling through him. Slowly Grace looked up at him, rubbed at her cheekbone and told him,

'You're the boy who stared at me in maths class.'

Her voice was as soft as he'd expected, but oddly matched with a thick Irish accent.

'No I didn't,' he stumbled, face turning red and hands digging deeper into his pockets. She looked up at him, still sat on the floor, and she too was surprised. His voice was husky yet unexpectedly sweet and it made her grin, nose crinkling. She held out a hand and he had no idea if she wanted him to shake it or help her up, so instead he took her elbow and hauled her to standing.

'My name's Grace – Grace Clarke.'

He nodded, then smiled to himself.

'Clarke,' he repeated, 'not very Irish sounding.' He watched her closely as she began to sweep dust and grime from where he fell, skirt twisting and dancing, kicking up that flare of want again as he sees a pale flash of thigh. Her delicate innocence was fascinating.

'It's my mum's surname,' she told him absently, tutting under her breath when she saw a mark on one of her brogues. Twisting to rub at it, he took the opportunity to pluck the baccy tin from her bag and inspect the name scratched into it. _J. Molony_. He murmured the name under his breath and quickly realised where he recognised it from. As Grace straightened he flipped it into the air, watching her fumble to catch it, blushing furiously.

'Is your Dad Johnny Molony?' He asked curiously as she began to hurry away – pausing, she eventually nodded. Throwing his head back, he laughed and told her in a delighted voice, 'your Dad is my dealer!'

She blushed pink again and for a moment it made him grin – but he eyes were upset so he let it fade.

'Promise you won't tell anyone?'

He nodded and she nodded back, watching for a moment – then, with a small, awkward bob, she hurried away. He watched her, wondering how far she had to walk home.

'I never told you my name!' He called out, watching as she turned and shrugged her shoulders back at him. 'My friends call me Bane,' he bellowed out across the street. That smile again – the biggest he'd ever seen it, crinkling her eyes and nose and forehead all at once. She started to give him a little wave but thinks better for it, dodging between the noisy London traffic and coming to a stop in front of him.

'Thanks,' she told him stiffly, as if she were unused to talking. 'You know, for not letting your girlfriend beat the shit out of me.'

The swearword sounds odd coming from her mouth; it's like watching a six year old kick a puppy. Inherently wrong, somehow – he wants to snatch it from the air and stuff it back in her mouth. Kiss the word off her lips, maybe, or hit it away.

By the time he was done thinking about it and back in reality Grace has turned away, already across the street. A bus blocked his view of her and by the time it had flashed past she'd gone and he was realising he'd be late home for tea.

* * *

**A/N: Much shorter chapter this time! I hope you enjoyed our two protagonists' introduction. I thought it was pretty sweet.**

**I just want to pre-empt a few questions here. I understand in comic canon, Bane spent his entire childhood in prison – however, the film (which is the canon I'm going from here) makes it clear [SPOILERS] that actually it was Talia who spent her childhood in prison. Bane looked pretty young there – but if I say any more I'll ruin the story! Eheh. Also if Grace seems pretty Mary Sue-ish, just give her a chance! She'll need a bit more character development and her flaws come later. At the moment Bane's just shocked because she's you know, not batshit mental like most of the people at his school. (And yes. School's like this do exist. I've been to one when I was much younger. English education system can be pretty piss-poor at times.)**

**I hope you enjoyed it. ANOTHER stupidly long A/N. But you know what to do…**

**Review! Please, I want to hear from you, all your thoughts and opinions. Even just to say hi.**

**EDIT: I had to change the setting of when this story is set due to a mistake I made calculating ages. It ended up with Bane being like 45 in TDKR timeline which is ridiculous. It shouldn't make ANY difference as I don't think I exactly use 'The Eighties' as a prevalent theme at any point in this fic...**


	4. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**_We might live like never before_**

**_The look on your face,_**

**_It's delicate_**

Rumours spread and an understanding grew. After three days it became understood that Grace was poorer than the rest of them – and nice, too. That's what attracted attention to her at first; she would hold open doors for teachers, say please and thank you and largely kept to herself. It all would have made her a target for bullying but her voice was so quiet and her eyes so tired that people could never really bring themselves to do anything once they got right up close. And eventually she began to blend in, attaching herself to a tightly-knit group of speccy, distant girls that she hung somewhere on the outside of. She often ate alone, sometimes with a book or her chunky walkman, bopping her head to herself when she had a packed lunch, working in the library when she didn't. Sometimes Bane could hear her stomach rumbling in Maths lessons.

Bane couldn't keep himself from thinking about her more and more. Especially since Tamara had dumped him and he had his hand had become intimate again. He still watched her in Maths, occasionally trying to distract her – but she'd just turn, give him a signature odd look or a smile, depending on her mood that day. They hadn't _properly _spoken again until a games lesson two weeks after their first meeting. He spotted her in the benches watching a wrestling match against another school that he was competing in. A small smattering of people had turned up – because those members of sixth form that did actually turn up to school weren't likely to attend a games lesson – and she was one of them, sat with a friend. She was dressed in non-regulation kit – because the stuff with the badge was needlessly expensive bundles of synthetic material – a loose, red t-shirt and grey shorts too small for her, teamed with plimsolls that look ready to fall apart at any point.

He was surprised to say it was the first time he'd ever seen her knees; they were sharp, matching her ankles, ready to snap. She wasn't wearing any make up – not that she ever did – and her pale eyelashes blinked down at him. Paired with hair pulled into pigtails she looked young and dangerously vulnerable. Pretty though, and he smiled at how _clean _she looked compared to everyone else; hair brushed, no smears of eyeliner anywhere, fingernails neat and tidy. It was remarkable how she did it, considering Molony was her dad. The man, Bane knew from all the tales and stories, was useless; he made enough from selling shitty weed to sustain him and, when Bane went to collect, usually spoke in lazy murmurs. The drug dealer seemed consistently high, making him unreliable and usually late for everything; he never would have guessed that Johnny Molony had a kid, let alone a seventeen year old daughter. He was surprised someone could stand to be around Molony long enough to give birth to his child – but then again, getting Grace out of it was just reward.

Grace could feel Bane's eyes on her so she snapped her gaze towards him, watching him until he flickered his attention somewhere else, giving her and opportunity to drink him in. Rust red hair was pulled down over his forehead, almost hanging in those blue eyes she'd never noticed before. He was, she realised for the first time, incredibly well-built – not enormous, not at Arnold Schwarzenegger _Terminator _point yet – but she could see muscles twisting underneath his t-shirt as he stretched. He was no monster but compared to the weeds on the other time, he was a giant. And he could snap her like a twig if he wanted to. Wriggling uncomfortably on the hard, wooden benches of the sports hall that had been placed on the steps in an attempt to encourage spectators, Grace looked down at her sharp knees.

He almost seemed nervous as he waited for his turn to fight. There wasn't enough room on the competitors' bench so he volunteered to sit on the ground, hugging his knees tightly to his chest, one bare foot tapping against the ground. Grace forced herself to watch again, fascinated, as he chewed at his thumbnail before taking a swig of water, rinsing it around his mouth before swallowing. Finally she tuned back in to her friend's conversation, nodding in false agreement to whatever she was saying even as she felt someone staring at her.

'Why is Bane looking at you like he wants to rip your throat out?' Her friend questioned curiously, earning a giggle from Grace as the pair's eyes met and Bane looked away, grinning sheepishly yet somehow still looking self-satisfied.

'He's not,' Grace told her unconvincingly.

'You're right, really – he's not. He's _actually _looking at you like he wants to fuck you,' her friend corrected herself, adjusting her glasses and sending Grace a stern look.

'Oh, be quiet,' Grace shushed her just as the conversation turned awkward. Feeling the heat of all the gym, Grace pulled at her clothes uncomfortably as everyone around her shifted in either excitement or boredom.

As the two people due to fight before him were beaten quickly and thoroughly, Bane felt a shifting anxiety. The added pressure of Grace being sat on the benches, watching him watching her, brought a sick feeling to his stomach that he hadn't felt before. The idea of being carried off to the nurses office in front of her made him determined that this fight would be over in minutes. If he was lucky and he was quick he could shower then come back to talk to her before they all had to go home.

The fight actually lasted moments – but only because he let it. There was silence as his muscles coiled and the fight began.

He saw it happening just as he had gotten the upper hand.

Grace, standing to let a group of boys in the year above shuffle past her, crept onto tiptoe in an attempt to still watch the match as they dawdled past her. Time seemed to slow as she was knocked, set slightly off balance on one side – then the other boy tripped, careening into her as he went.

It was almost as if no one had noticed as she slid down, knocking her head with a dull thud against the wooden bench and lay, crumpled, between the rows.

* * *

**A/N: Dun dun dunnnnnn.**

**[Song was Damien Rice: Delicate]**

**Hello! First off I'd like to say thank you! Waking up to twenty-three or so emails about favourites, follows and reviews was lovely. Just in response to a review; one reader quite rightly pointed out that Bane said in the movie:**

**"-I was born in darkness; I grew up in darkness... I didn't see the light until I was already a man, and by then it was nothing but blinding."**

**This is quite right, Bane does say that, and the reviewer pointed out that this could be interpreted as him growing up in prison, just not THE prison featured in TDKR. So I'm going to have a little play with this concept – luckily I was prepared and was already thinking about doing a little something about Bane's childhood.**

**ANYWAY. Thank you to that reviewer for pointing that out! In other news: question time.**

**If this series gets popular enough (eg if it gets enough reviews and it seems like you lot are interested enough) I might do a series of one-shots about the kind of thing Bruce will see in the file Blake gave him. E.g. funny little school reports, interviews with minor characters, etc. Would you lot be interesting in reading this? It would just be some fun side thing that could be a laugh.**

**Also keep your eyes out for a competition in the next few chapters! :D thank you again to my lovely reviewers, but please PLEASE review you lot! I need to hear what you lovely people are thinking :) **

**So… go on!**


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**_Be calm. _**

**_I know you feel like you are breaking down. _**

**_Oh I know that it gets so hard sometimes, _**

**_Be calm. _**

**_Take it from me, I've been there a thousand times. _**

**_You hate your pulse because it still thinks you're alive_**

**_ and everything's wrong _**

**_It just gets so hard sometimes_**

**_Be calm._**

He found it ridiculous that he was expected to fight when Grace was lying limply on the floor. His opponent, not having noticed the casualty amongst the spectators, took advantage of his distraction and flipped him onto his back. A puff of air wheezed out of him and something in the back of his mind told him he had been winded, but he was focused on other things now; logically, Bane decided it would be quicker to allow his opponent to keep him on the floor for the count of ten rather than attempt to gain the other hand. He needed to get out and get out fast, because Grace's _useless _friend was staring in shock, along with the careless _twats _who watched as Grace stirred weakly. He heard the count of the referees, the screams of his coach – but all he could see was Grace, upside down from his position on the floor, bringing a hand to the back of her head and staring when she saw the blood staining her fingers.

As soon as he had officially lost Bane threw off the opponent holding him down and was up, making a beeline for the boy who had tripped and sent Grace flying.

There were shocked gasps and little, surprised screams as he stumbled up the benches, one foot slapping down bare inches from a girl's hand. At moments like this he forgot everything – his own strength, the name of the boy he was sending a punch towards, whether they were friends or had never seen him before in his life. Forgot Grace had never seen him have one of these moments because he was _new _and _delicate _and deserved to be _protected _–

Fist connected with nose, producing a satisfying _crack _as the boy's nose broke. Bane barely saw him fall to the ground, clutching his nose and _howling._ He turned to the other one who had jolted her in the first place, hauled him up by the front of his shirt –

'Bane.'

The quiet, weak voice cut through and although he didn't turn his head to her he didn't do anything to the boy he held a foot off the ground.

'Bane – I'm fine.'

But she held out her hand towards him and he could see the blood on her pale skin – and from the angle he was at he could see the stain of dark blood on her blond hair. His hands tightened on the boy's clothes, muscles coiling and tightening in the same way they had before the match – but that little voice cut in again.

'_Bane!_' This time he looked towards her, breath coming out in shallow pants, as she continued, 'I need you.' _Pause. Clarify. _'I n-need you to take me to the nurse's office.'

He stopped to take her in – _properly_, not just focusing on her injury. Her eyes were wide, skin trembling – she was cared. _Of the bleeding_. _No_, he corrected himself. She was leaning away from him, watching him like a mouse watches a hawk. Her hands were shaking. _I've scared her._

Carefully, Bane put the boy in his hands down, remembering his name as he did so. _James. _The whole room was watching him as carefully as Grace was and for a moment he hung his head, ashamed. Ensuring the boy next to him wasn't going to trip and cause _another _emergency, he finally turned to Grace, holding his arms out to pick her up. When she flinched away from him his stomach dropped – but he persisted and as he drew her up to his chest, carefully cradling her head, she relaxed into him.

This seemed to break the spell that had been cast over the Sport's Hall; voices interrupted, people leaned away from the pair as they descended the benches, and Bane's coach called out,

'Bane, Headmaster. _Now!_'

Bane barely paused as they headed towards the doors, calling over his shoulder,

'I have to take her to the Nurse!'

'Someone else can take her –'

'I'm the only one who can take her quickly enough,' Bane protested, swinging to a stop and turning to his coach. After a few tense seconds, the man nodded.

'Drop her off then go _straight there_, understand?'

Bane was already heading away – only to be stopped by the Student First Aid Volunteer, who was just qualified enough to hand out plasters (at the very best).

'We've called ahead,' she squeaked up at him, eyes flashing nervously, 'the Nurse is ready for you.'

Bane nodded and, taking up a quick pace, headed into the winding corridors of the school.

'Jesus Bane, slow down – the nurse's office is like, _thirty seconds _away,' Grace breathed out, her voice coming out slurred as her eyelids flickered. Bane slowed a little – because she was right and because he could see the winces of pain with each jolting step he took – and looked down at her curiously.

'I think you have concussion,' he told her, earning a frown from the tiny girl cradled in his arms.

'Shut up, you – I'm fine,' she mumbled, her words running together as she nudged her head against his chest again. He would have been worried but they were already outside the Nurse's office; as he went to open the door a small hand tugged gently on his t-shirt, stopping him.

'You have nice eyes.'

He rolled said eyes at her, tried not to think too much of the comment from a girl with concussion, and pushed the door open with his hip. The school Nurse greeted him grimly, her face stern even as she began kindly,

'Come on in Bane – if you pop her down there, and then off to the Head with you,' the Nurse told him. _Disappointed _would be the word Bane would use to describe her tone of voice, and Bane sent an anxious glance towards his old friend as he placed the fragile-looking Grace down.

'I want to stay.' When he got no response he took a step closer to the young Nurse and told her, 'Charlie, come on. I want to stay with her.'

Charlie, a young woman who had known Bane as long as he'd been at the school, gave him a long, searching look and eventually nodded.

'Right, young lady, let's have a look at that head of yours,' she began loudly, turning away from Bane, who dropped his gaze to the floor in relief. Grace nodded weakly and shuffled against the camp bed as Charlie brought the light closer to her head, parting her hair. After a few moments of inspection and gently pressing around the wound to gage Grace's reaction, she tutted and sent Bane another stern look.

'A lot of fuss over nothing – him, sweetie, not you,' Charlie corrected herself, glaring over at Bane, '_certainly _not worth a broken nose. Doesn't even need stitches – speaking of, I'll need to have a look at your knuckles in a minute. You really are a twat, aren't you?' Charlie sighed, watching as Bane flushed a little, before attempting to pacify his old friend with a joke;

'You should see the other guy –'

'No, _I _won't see the other guy, New Cross Hospital's A and E unit will,' Charlie interrupted sternly, before abruptly changing her tone to tell Grace sweetly, 'alright, let's get you over to the sink so we can wash some of the blood out of that cut.'

A few minutes later Grace was cleaned up as best as possible and diagnosed with mild concussion. She shivered slightly, her wet hair soaking through the back of her t-shirt, and used a baby wipe to scrub away the dried blood on her fingers.

'You'll have to stick around until the headache stops,' Charlie explained, passing her some water and a paracetemol before beckoning Bane across the small room. Snatching up his hand, she inspected it for a fracture and eventually began to dress the small grazes on his knuckles.

'So are you two dating, then?' Charlie asked bluntly, unwrapping some plasters. The question drew a blush and spluttered laughter from Grace, as well as a pointed cough and a glare from Bane.

'No, no,' Grace eventually protested lightly, 'we've only known each other – what, two, three weeks?' She looked to Bane for confirmation, who nodded weakly, still embarrassed by Charlie's question. In all honesty, Bane's reaction to the whole event had not only scared Grace but unnerved and confused her; it made no sense for he to leap to her defence when they had spoken once before, and she couldn't help but puzzle over it as they sat there together.

'I wouldn't put it past Bane here. Second week of school – he was in year ten – he walks in here, got a graze on his knee from playing football or something,' Charlie began chattily, 'and as he walked out, after having talked nineteen to the dozen the whole time, he slapped my arse and said _thanks, toots_.'

Grace giggled – although more at Bane's reaction, which was to blush a deep red, than the story in itself.

'Such a lady's man, eh?' Charlie laughed, reaching up to ruffle Bane's hair until he swatted at her hands.

'Ger'off,' he growled – but there was affection in his voice and the playful way he let Charlie tease him was, for Grace, a shocking contrast to the boy she'd seen ten minutes ago. The boy who had been blind with rage and had broken someone's nose.

'Right Bane, you'd best be off; I need to get some details from Grace.'

'I want to wait,' he told her again, just as firm and determined as before. Charlie had given up arguing with him, replying dryly,

'There's a chair outside you can sit on.'

Shoulders slumped he nodded at the two women and traipsed outside like a chastised puppy, letting the door click shut behind him. Getting out a set of keys and testing each in the lock of a filing cabinet, Charlie told her over her shoulder,

'That boy is completely in love with you.'

Grace blinked up at Charlie, mouth falling open as she floundered for words, eventually forcing out,

'B-but – you heard what we said – we've only known each other a few weeks –'

'It doesn't take long for people like Bane,' Charlie interrupted, finally finding the right key. The clinical room suddenly felt very small and very empty to Grace; she almost found herself missing the presence of Bane in the corner, no matter how scary she found him.

Her mind span. She thought over everything that had happened in the sport's hall; Bane's look of blank, isolated fury; the _crack _of that boy's nose; Charlie's words.

_People like Bane_. She interrupted the young nurse half way through one of her questions from the form.

'Charlie, what did you mean – _people like Bane_?'

When Charlie continued with her own medical question, Grace persisted cautiously.

'Bane, is there – is he… Does he have some sort of anger… _thing_?'

Charlie delicately put the pen down on the counter and wheeled her chair over so she was sat in front of Grace, beginning in a gentle voice,

'I can't tell you anything because of patient confidentiality.' Charlie paused and then took off her badge reading _school nurse_, gingerly placing it down. '_But_, not as your nurse but as Bane's friend…' Charlie trailed off again, taking in Grace's nervous eyes before attempting to navigate the explanation. 'Bane had a – uh, traumatic childhood. He came here at age fourteen, but before that… I can't go into that. It's too much for me to tell you – I'm breaking enough rules here already.

'The first year he was here he was a nightmare, but a couple of the teachers – Mrs Beckett, your math teacher and his coach, who saw real potential in him, and myself – insisted that he stayed. He needed our help – and he's been doing so much better. But yes, he does have an anger… _thing_.' Charlie paused, carefully puffing out a breath before trying to clarify, 'when I saw traumatic, sweetie, I mean… _horrific._ It's amazing that he's as good as he is – he just has a very short temper and very violent tendencies. Severe anger management problems would be the official term.' Charlie broke off to hesitantly take Grace's hand. 'If you want,' she stopped, making sure she held Grace's eye, squeezed her hand and repeated softly, '_if you want_, you could be _so _good for him.'

Grace nodded, looking down at her feet.

'May I go?' She asked quietly, earning a nod from Charlie, accompanied by a soft smile.

Out in the corridor Bane was hunched over in a chair, staring at the plasters on his knuckles. As Grace appeared he stood hurriedly, hunched as if trying to make himself smaller, watching the girl as she stared off to one side, trying to deliberate what to do. Finally she took a deep breath and met that intense, _heavy _gaze of his.

'Thank you,' she started up slowly, taking his elbow and giving it a squeeze, 'but you shouldn't do it again.'

Nodding to herself – as if confirming that was all she wanted to do – she hurried away, leaving Bane alone in the corridor staring after her.

**A/N: Yet again loving you guys for all of the reviews! Whew, that was a long one, eh?**

**Thank you to: Sam0728, xSilence24x, aaroniteXkryptonite, Great Red Dragon, ktfoo and all my lovely guests. (Oh, and Drake: it didn't seem like a flame at all! It was super helpful.) **

**Got a bit of a response on the idea of one-shots: any thoughts, guys? Anyway, as usual, PLEASE review! All of my reviews have either been helpful or truly lovely (or even both) and they're so motivating! So, you know how it works – the more reviews the quicker the updates! But I'm also very grateful to those who followed and favourited. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was my favourite so far to write. **

**[Song lyrics came from Be Calm by fun.]**

**In conclusion: please review! Go on, it's just there…**


	6. Chapter 4

**2016**

Bruce looks down at the file in his hands and realises he's reading by the sharp light of dawn spilling in through the curtains. He's read through the night and now he finally stops, a headache rushing over him. His hiss of pain causes Selina to stir and he quickly shuts the file; it's no secret but he doesn't want her reading about the life of the man she almost murdered. Too much guilt.

He wishes, actually, that _he _could stop reading; it's a shocking reminder of Bane's humanity. A man who, to him, was completely inhuman.

He flicks to the back, plucks up the small piece of paper giving him a summary report on Agraciana Clarke. Blake's been incredibly thorough, Bruce has to give it to him.

She hadn't left England in fifteen years. Not even during Bane's reign of tyranny over Gotham. Bruce realises with a shock that he has no idea how much of Grace was behind that – he won't get that far in the report for a long time.

Bending over to press a kiss on the top of Selina's head as she huddles into the pillow, Bruce slips from the bed and pulls his phone from the night stand. Blake's on speed dial – number four._ Selina, Alfred, Fox, Blake_. Then Gordon, like a little after-thought.

'Boss?' Blake's voice is sleepy but he sounds alert; a good man is one who wakes up ready for anything, Bruce muses. When he says nothing Blake fills, 'you been reading the file?'

'Yeah – all night.'

'It's… Surreal, isn't it?' Blake suggests, earning a murmur of agreement from Bruce. He hums quietly to himself in thought and finally tells Blake,

'I want you to go to England again.'

It's impossible to miss Blake's sigh of frustration – the man's been back three months and is finally getting used to the US again – and Bruce makes no move to appease him, just waits for him to agree.

'I think she suspects. Grace. I think she knows when the house is being watched. She's smart –'

'Blake, I have a copy of her degree sat in a file in front of me, I know she's smart,' he snaps, unable to keep his cool. Because, to be honest, it's unnerving to watch someone you thought was a monster become fragile in your mind's eye, and it makes him wonder if he's made wrong judgements about _everyone_; if his ideas of morality are completely skewed. It makes him feel _uncertain._

And that pisses him off.

'Different types of smart, sir,' Blake tells him cryptically, voice curt as he hangs up on his superior. But Blake can predict what Bruce's order might be, and those orders piss Robin off. Batman understand that.

Bruce, on the other hand, wants to go back to bed. So he sleeps for another few hours, makes breakfast for himself and Selina, calls Fox, then Alfred – then suddenly he's frittered the day away.

He's tired, he can feel it in his bones, but the file is calling from where he abandoned it half tucked under the covers. With a sigh he takes it down to the Bat Cave and flicks to the note – in Charlie's handwriting – of the pair's visit to the medical room. The next scrap is a yellowed print out documenting Bane's following two week suspension.


	7. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**This chapter is dedicated to my lovely guest reviewer, ladyannabeth, who left the nicest, longest review and completely ****_got _****the whole point of this fanfiction (and was very complimentary whilst she was at it).**

**_We're all drinkers, drug takers_**

**_Every single one of us burns the herb_**

**_Keep on believing what you read in the papers_**

**_Council estate kids, scum of the earth_**

* * *

Bane knew Maggie – his foster mother – would be disappointed with his two week suspension. But he was more worried about having no excuse to see Grace for fourteen days. _Perhaps_, something in his mind told him, _that is a good thing_. He didn't want to scare Grace away, move too fast – but he couldn't help but flush with pride when he remembered she telling him about his pretty, navy eyes. How she blushed when Charlie assumed they were a couple. So he did what he always did, which was dither for a few days before eventually turning to his foster brother, J.

The Cartbrights, his foster family, fostered handfuls of young children on a temporary basis until places in care homes opened up; Bane and J, however, were permanent fixtures. Both needed the stability and affection the Cartwrights willingly offered.

As "brothers", the two couldn't have looked more different. Bane towered over J and must have been twice his size; whilst Bane had rougher, more rugged looks, J was pristine. He was all sharp cheekbones and a smooth smile, with almost girlish eyelashes hidden behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. J was also an academic, studying psychology with a scholarship at Goldsmiths University, just down the road. He was fascinated with the mind and academia, whilst Bane was fare more interested in the physical; he had only decided to take Maths A Level under J's encouragement.

Bane rapped a quick knock on the room J inhabited and slipped inside after the smooth, American voice told him to _come on in_. The room was tiny, barely fitting in a desk and a bed, whilst every available surface was lined with books – thick tomes, slim textbooks and faded collections of pages barely held together by binding, having been read so many times. Bane supposed there were more books in this one, tiny box room than there were in his school's entire library.

Flopping down on his 'brother's' bed, Bane watched J twist in his creaking desk chair, tutting when his book was teasingly pulled from his hands. Seeing it was some monster of a book on the French revolution, a subject he had no knowledge or interest in, he slipped it into place on the shelf above J's head and laced his fingers together.

'I need your advice, Bane began bluntly, watching as the older boy slipped off his glasses and rubbed at those startling blue eyes of his. Eventually he motioned for Bane to go on, leaning back in the desk chair. 'You date smart girls, right?'

'Smart_er_ girls – smarter than me. Makes it more of a challenge,' J corrected, finger in the air as his eyes danced brightly.

'Okay, well – there's this girl. And she's… Well, she's not just smart, she's _hardworking_. You remember Mrs Kennet's math class?' Bane questioned, getting a grimace in reply from J; the chaotic nature of any class under Mrs Kennet was enough to distract even J from learning. 'Well, she can just… Sit through a whole lesson, barely looks up from the page,' Bane explained slowly, earning an impressed raise of the eyebrows from J.

'So what's the problem? Just ask her if she wants to go for a drink,' J suggested, slender shoulders shrugging underneath this pale blue shirt, bringing out the clearness of his eyes until he slid his glasses back on.

'I – I think I scared her,' Bane stated nervously, referring to how he had broken someone's nose and gotten himself suspended, earning a murmur of understanding from J.

'_Right_. So you've freaked her out and now you're worried you'll alienate her further if you make a move?' Bane nodded. 'So you need to gain her trust and put yourself into a modified position in her eyes…' J trailed off, his eyes staring blankly at a spot above Bane's head. He could see the cogs turning behind the pretty face, and waited for the inevitable solution. Finally it came with a blink of the yes. 'Get her to tutor you in mathematics.'

'_What_?' This was, _oddly enough_, not the solution Bane had been expecting.

'You need to make her feel that she's in control; her teaching you would be perfect. It would mean she would be able to instruct you, have that modicum of control in one aspect of your relationship that would, in her eyes at least, multiply to her having control in _all _aspects of your relationship. She fears your physical strength; her having the higher ground mentally in an artificial situation whilst you have it physically would remove some of that fear.'

Bane needed a few moments to take in everything J had just told him; when he finally had the gist of it he let out a low, impressed whistle.

'That degree finally doing some good, eh?' Bane teased, his grin wide – until J finished seriously,

'A PhD would do me better. Then I could be a Doctor of psychology.' A stilted pause, and his foster brother's yearning to become a Doctor was yet another stabbing reminder for Bane of how poor they all really were, _and don't you fucking forget it _– then J came back into the real world. 'What's she like?' He asked abruptly, watching Bane's head bow. If it weren't for that obvious show of rolling muscle under his shirt, he would look childlike as he described Grace.

'Nice – really nice, nicest girl I've ever met. Kind, gentle – a bit quiet. The way it feels like she's always holding back is sort of… unnerving.' Bane stopped pensively, gaze shifted to the left, unaware of J's gaze on him until he added with a mumble, 'she's Molony's daughter.'

The pen J had been fiddling with dropped to the floor as he let out a mix of laughter and a startled gasp.

'No shit!' J finally forced out. '_Christ. The _Molony?' Bane nodded, producing a rough chuckle from J. 'Have you seen where he lives?' He eventually asked, plucking his stash from his usual hiding place and turning it over in his hands, as if it might sate his curiosity about the drug dealer's daughter.

'Nah – I pick up down by the station. Besides, I – uh, I've given up,' Bane admitted, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. J clapped him on the back, grudgingly impressed, and Bane watched him as the older boy continued,

'It's a hole – seriously crappy. Little two room place with a bathroom. Radio blaring full volume half the time, Molony high as a kite too.' J paused, tilting his head to one side before rising to open the window and clambering up his desk to sit on the sill, rolling a spliff as he continued, 'really clean, though, spotless – hey, you said her name was Grace, right?' J suddenly blurted, mumbling around the roll-up as he scrambled in his pockets for a lighter.

'Yeah – mate, it's gonna stink in here if you light that,' Bane began to protest – but J ignored him, lighting up and taking a drag before telling Bane excitedly,

'Agraciana Molony – I met her! I was picking up for a few friends and Molony didn't want to leave the house with that much. She answered the door; she was pretty, real pretty.' J stared thoughtfully into the distance, unaware of Bane watching him closely, jaw clenched. 'She dresses, uh –'

'Dresses rich?' Bane finished, earning a frantic nod.

'She offered me tea while I waited. I thought that was a… Um, a…' Bane watched him struggle for words, a smirk playing over his lips despite himself. J always got like this when he was high; free, hands waving wildly, searching for the most flowery language he could use. The older boy was obsessed with the effect of drugs – _endless potential_, he had told Bane a thousand times. '…A beautiful irony,' J eventually finished, getting a snicker for his efforts as Bane straightened, going to leave. There's an odd expression on J's face and Bane can see an internal struggle going on. He supposed J wanted something – because he usually did – but he was struggling to work out how to ask. Because J was so used to _taking _– which was what landed him in care in the first place.

'What is it, J?' Bane sighed down at his foster brother.

'Well, I'm doing my dissertation this year and I wanted to do it on unorthodox parental situations creating a direct opposite character from them in their child – so, basicallfy, if a child gets better does the dysfunctional parent get worse and so on. But because the subject's quite an obscure one my teacher said I had to have a key case study – a real life one – to base it on. And I was wondering – if you don't mind – if I ask Grace.'

Bane stared at J for a long, long while. Eventually he asked roughly,

'You promise you won't upset her?'

'I promise.'

'You won't hurt her?'

'I _promise._'

'You won't try and get off with her?'

'Okay, there I can't make any promises –'

'_J.'_

'Kidding!' J told him easily, holding his hands up in defeat. Eventually Bane nodded, moving to go, when J stopped him with a hand on his arm. Despite the marijuana meddling with this brain, when Bane looked down an abruptly serious gaze was fixed on his own.

'Whatever she tells me – you understand I can't tell you any of it, right?'

With a shrug and an nod, Bane slipped out of the room, clicking the door shut gently behind him as an odd sinking sensation started up in his stomach.

* * *

**A/N:**

**[Song lyrics – Plan B, Ill Manors]**

**Hello there! First off, thank you to all my lovely reviewers! Sorry I didn't leave my usual lengthy A/N last chapter and that it was kinda short (and kinda boring…), there were problems with my computer. Quick question: do you guys want to see more of that Bruce and Blake perspective? Because I could bring it in more, but there's only so much I can do of, 'ehh I feel guilty for misjudging Bane except he was kinda a giant bag of dicks'. So yes, thoughts? Anyway…**

**_COMPETITION TIME:_**

**So, the new character introduced was called 'J' – deliberately shortened. He is, in fact, a canon character from the Batman Series – but can you guess who? Looking at all the clues in the chapter about him, submit your guess in a review. I'll pick a name out of the hat and the winner can request the first one-shot in my one-shot tie-in series that I mentioned. It can be anything – silly, cracky, a bit serious, a bit fluffy (although if it's something you bring up that I've been planning to put into the plot you're going to have to wait until the plot catches up with the idea, if you get my drift… No? That's because that made no sense. Sigh). Summary of the main clues:**

- **Interested in psychology and drugs**

- **Wants to become a Doctor**

- **American**

- **Reading about the French Revolution**

- **Has the eyes of a Greek God**

**In other news: Face claims. I've been planning to do this for a while but keep on forgetting. Not too difficult, as there's only three.**

**Older Grace: ****_Ramola Garai_**

**Younger Grace: ****_Imogen Poots_**

**Bane: ****_Tom Hardy_**** (but the pretty, smaller version, not the movie version.)**

**[On another note, if any Americans are confused by this whole A Levels nonsense: in England you pick four subjects for AS and drop one at A2. You do these in Sixth Form, years 12 and 13, when you are aged 16-18. Then you bugger off to University for 3 years. Sixth Form is also referred to college in England when it is a school dedicated just to teaching years 12 and 13; Sixth Forms tend to be attached to Senior schools with younger years. In the 1980s, when the story was set, you picked 3 subjects and did them all over a 2 year course with exams at the end of the 2 years.]**

**SO! In conclusion: my guest reviewer was fucking awesome, you could potentially win a competition, and face claims. If you're still here after all this babble PLEASE review. I love hearing from you guys, it brings a grin to my face every time I get a review.**


	8. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**A/N: And the winner is…**

**Wolflihood!**

**Everyone guessed the mysterious 'J' was Jonathan Crane(worse competition ever that was SO EASY GUYS I would have been disappointed if you hadn't guessed it :P) but that was the name I pulled out of the hat (literally)**

**So Wolflihood if you PM me you can claim your prize; whatever the hell you want in a one-shot. Can be as silly as you like.**

**J will be referred to as Jonathan now in the narrative but as J still by Bane to make life easier :L **

Grace thought she might be missing Bane.

_Who am I kidding_, she internally scolded herself, _I _know _I miss Bane._

She got a job partly to distract herself and partly because they desperately needed the money. The larger part was the money but she was usually so exhausted by the end of the day that she didn't have enough time to think about how it was six days until he returned to school. Or how maths _was _actually kind of dull without him around to jab her in the rib or tug gently on he hair when he wanted help with a problem.

When he wandered into her place of work – a small, tacky American-style diner where all the waitresses wore roller skates, which Grace had long abandoned behind the long counter – accompanied by a hoard of children and another boy around their age, her stomach flipped. She darted into the backroom to fetch some spare menus, taking a deep breath and becoming increasingly conscious of how curly and wild her hair was halfway into her six hour shift. Trying to smooth it down, she emerged back into the diner only to laugh – the group of six were sat across the bar and had somehow ended up in height order, looking like some sort of dystopian Von Trapp family. The youngest looked to be around five, a chubby-faced girl, whilst the eldest, a lanky boy nothing like Bane, was looking at anything but her.

Bane's surprised face when he saw her was at least vaguely convincing. The boy sat next to him was clearly a less convincing actor, and stuttered out a _hello _despite the fact she was sure she had never met him before. Although those sharp, _pretty _blue eyes were faintly familiar.

'Grace!' Bane smiled, his voice husky, coming with an edge that was only produced by chain-smoking fastidiously for an hour straight. She smiled uncertainly, shifting her uniform about as he took her in.

'Hi – haven't seen you around here much before,' she eventually replied uneasily, slightly unnerved by the way the four young children were staring at her.

'That's odd – we come here all the time,' Bane grinned – only to have the smile wiped clear off his face as the youngest child leaned across the table to protest,

'No we _don't_. We only came here because _Jonathan _said we _had _to. _We _wanted to go to McDonalds.'

Shocked, Grace stared at the bright red boy by Bane, by now a stammering mess.

'I – I just _really _love those ice cream sundaes,' he stuttered out, staring down at his hands.

'We don't sell ice cream sundaes here,' Grace told the American boy, voice flat. 'Do I know you?' She eventually forced out after a bout of pitiful silence from the boy in front of her. Still not meeting her gaze he told her quietly,

'We met once. I was – uh, there to see your Dad.'

Grace's twisted, frustrated expression fell, giving way to a blank expression of calm as she recognised him. She had offered him tea and he had laughed at her, then asked for her number. She had declined to give it to him. Giving him a small nod – surprised she hadn't recognised the rich American accent and those striking eyes earlier – she turned her attention to Bane, pulling out her notebook. She asked him in the sweet tone she reserved for her customers,

'What can I get you?'

'Uh – four diet cokes and one small thing of chips.'

'That'll be one fifty,' she told him, holding out her hand for the loose change he was offering. Dropping it into the till she hurried into the back room, rushing to collect the order and taking it out to the front. Placing the tray down in front of him, she stared when Bane took one of the cokes and pushed it back towards her, resulting in an chorus of groans from the children down the other end of the counter. Silently mollifying them by pushing two cokes down their end – along with the entire portion of fries – Bane returned his attention to Grace. She had picked up the coke, sipping absent-mindedly, before stretching on tip-toe to stare at something out of the window.

Having only seen her in her usual soft pastels and near-shapeless, home-made clothes, Grace's uniform came as a shock. Bane had never seen her in something so blatantly sexualised (_and all to sell some chips_, he mused cynically); she wore an odd, day-glo pink playsuit, low-cut and cinched round the waste with an apron.

It was obviously having some affect on Jonathan, whose eyes had quickly drifted to her chest and stayed there, seemingly lost in his own little world of lust. Bane hid a smirk behind his hand as Grace caught his foster-brother's gaze and pointedly cleared her throat, waiting for him to meet her eye. Flushing red, he began to stammer something out – but Grace had already turned to Bane, a small smile playing about her lips.

'I'll be back in a moment.'

As she yet again disappeared into the backroom of the greasy diner, Bane shot a smirk Jonathan's way. The boy was clearly smitten, and for a moment Bane felt as if _he _were the older, wiser one. He would have been jealous if J had been the one Grace had been directing every spare glance to. But it hadn't; it had been him on the receiving end of her playful, delicate smiles and sideways glances.

'Dick,' Bane eventually laughed out, voice low.

'Shut up,' Jonathan shot back, voice tight and strangled.

'Mate, if you've got a boner you should probably go outside, this is sort of a family establishment –'

'_Shut up_,' Jonathan repeated through gritted teeth just as Grace reappeared, coming up and round the counter to sit beside them.

'I've got a break,' she said simply by way of explanation, turning to the two boys and delicately sipping at her coke again, wrinkling her nose at its lukewarm temperature.

'So while we're here, I'm pretty sure I'm failing math –'

'You are failing math,' Grace interrupted, blinking at him owlishly when he looked offended. Shaking his head and reminding himself he shouldn't have started off fishing for compliments, he battled on,

'_Right_. Well do you know anyone who might be able to tutor me? I assume all you clever people have some sort of club where you talk about equations and…' Bane trailed off, his joke falling flat as Grace frowned at him. Tilting her head to one side he felt as if he were being analysed by her grey eyes – it was much the same way Jonathan would stare at him. Unnerving; as if layers of his skin were being stripped away to reveal secrets and dark thoughts no one else saw.

His abruptly dark thoughts were interrupted by Grace shrugging, telling him,

'I'll do it.' She stops, thinks, then adds, 'for a fiver.'

He opened his mouth to protest the price on instinct; fortunately Jonathan saved him, kicking him in the shin, and he shut up, pretending to consider before nodding.

'When are you free?'

'Um – next Monday lunchtime? IN the library?'

Bane didn't feel like pointing out that he hadn't seen the library being used for work since he first joined the school; he nodded, giving her a slight smile as she turned to Jonathan.

'I assume you want something too…' She trailed off blankly, waiting for his name. Eventually he seemed to get the message – for a supposed idiot Jonathan was acting like an idiot – and stuck his hand out, smiling.

'Jonathan – Jonathan Crane.'

Grace winced as Jonathan pumped her hand up and down and, as he eagerly delved into his request, forgot to let go. Bane had began to notice any relationship his foster brother got himself into would usually deteriorate because he was so invested in his work over anything else. This was very much obvious as he explained his project passionately, eyes taking on a glazed, far-away look. He explained, in almost exactly the same words he had used to tell Bane about it all, the subject of his dissertation and his need for a real-life case study. When he finished, ending on a plea for her help, Grace gave him another of her searching looks and told him flatly,

'You're hurting my hand.'

Jonathan looked down at it as if he'd never noticed she even _had _a hand – on seeing the tips of her fingers turning an unattractive purple, he dropped his grip, letting out a stumbled apology. Grace leaned her chin against her hand, not looking at anything in particular, seemingly considering Jonathan's request. However, when she came back into reality after a few awkwardly quiet moments, she studied the pair closely and asked,

'So are you two brothers?'

'Something like that,' Bane chuckled.

'We're foster brothers,' Jonathan added, leaning across Bane slightly in an attempt to catch Grace's attention – however, her eyes had already narrowed slightly as she told Bane, an accusatory edge to her voice,

'You never told me you were fostered.'

'You never told me you look so good in neon pink,' he chuckled – only to have her scowl and pull at her uniform.

'Don't flirt with me,' she snapped, staring grumpily down at her drink. He was about snap back when something caught his attention; thick, dark shadows hung under her eyes and her face was pinched. She looked _exhausted_ –and, now that he thought about it, skinnier than she did when he'd last seen her. Grace looked brittle, ready to break.

'Hey, are you alright? When did you last eat? And sleep?' He questioned gently, ducking his head to meet her gaze. Grace shrugged her shoulders limply, sending an awkward glance Jonathan's way before rubbing at her eyes; in that moment, as she took a long breath, she seemed to be struggling to collect herself and stay awake all at once. Hand flashing out before he could stop, Grace sent a look of surprise his way when he took her hand and squeezed it. Being met with Bane's smile, however, she let at out her breath and squeezed in return, her face remaining studiously composed. Draining the rest of her coke, Grace sprang into animation, glancing at her watch and returning round the other side of the counter.

'Right,' she began, as if to summarise whilst pointing at Jonathan, 'you. I'll do it for a tenner, collectively. And _you_,' she pointed at Bane whilst snatching a napkin, 'give me a ring when I get off my shift. It ends at three – I've got some math homework for you, but I can't remember the page numbers.'

As she pushed the napkin with her number written on it across the counter, Bane was overcome with this odd, _intense _need to just lean over the counter and kiss her. Instead he nodded, herded the cluster of kids out of the door, doubled back to collect a still blustering Jonathan, and left.

* * *

Walking along the crowded street, weaving through crowds of university students and homeless blokes begging, Bane took a deep breath. He was, ridiculously, head over heels – but he wasn't sure how much he could pin that to genuine feeling. He remembered, faintly, reading _Romeo and Juliet _in his year nine English class; how he had been utterly cynical about the whole thing. He had thought it stupid that Romeo had fallen so quickly and lost so much, and he was beginning to feel a vague comparison drawn to his own feelings. He was caught up in the way she smelt, the way she looked – it was like an extended period of the way he felt when he flew into a rage. Blind._ Tunnel vision_, and the only thing he could see was Grace.

The more he thought about it, the more horrible it felt. Grace, whilst clearly interested, wasn't as invested as he was – she still had no idea about his past, the way he felt everything so intensely, so impulsively. A scowl began to brew along his face as his stomach churned; it wasn't fair to drag such a nice, sweet girl into his hellish live. He couldn't make it better, which was what she needed; he would only pull her down with his violent intensity. Bane had thought that intensity only applied to his violent bouts of temper – but, it seemed, it applied to love too.

'Did you hear about Molony?'

At the mention of the drug dealer, Bane stiffened, shoulders hunched in worry.

'No,' he mumbled slowly.

'Apparently he got into trouble with a load of Dutch guys – placed a stupidly massive order of weed and now he can't pay them back.'

Bane's mouth turned dry as he thought of Grace, alone in that apartment every evening with just her useless Dad for protection. He slowed to a stop, vaguely taking in Jonathan still chattering away with the youngest of their fostered siblings. He had scooped the little girl up onto his hip and, leaning into her face, whispered,

'What are you afraid of?' When the girl responded with wide eyes and a gawping mouth, he continued darkly, 'is it… _The tickle monster_?' And proceeded to produce from giggling squawks from the little girl as they approached a set of traffic lights.

He only noticed Bane wasn't accompanying them when they were across the road; the athletic boy was running full pelt towards a pay phone.

'_Bane!_' Jonathan called out in frustration, evidently confused.

'I've got to...' Bane called over his shoulder, then pulled to a stop, for a moment trying to think his plan through. It was as if everything he had been thinking about thirty seconds ago had flown from his mind. Inspiration struck as he dug Grace's home phone out of his pocket, the napkin now crumpled and covered in bits of old tissue. Grinning triumphantly, he called out, 'I've got to order some stuff! From Molony.'

'I thought you'd given up –'

'Old habits die hard.'

**A/N:**

**Sup bitches. Look a second A/N! Just wanted to say sorry it's been longer than usual since the last chapter. I've been distracted trying to motivate myself to do some holiday work (failed) had my first ever driving lesson today (which went awfully I do NOT want to learn) and read an EXCELLENT Crane/OC fic called Where is the Edge? It is EXCELLENT I would thoroughly recommend it.**

**In tribute, I'm going to do a QOTD (question of the day, duhhh). **

**What's your guys' favourite song? And do you relate any songs in particular to Bane (or even this fic?!). And to the writers out there; how much does music influence you when you're writing? I actually find cheesy pop is great to write to unless you're writing something serious. I try to find music that fits the mood of what I'm writing. The songs I'm relating to this fic at the moment are 'Teenage Kicks' (because it's so Bane gushing over Grace) and Ill Manors by Plan B for the setting and the background of the fic.**

**Love to all. Please PLEASE review. Do you guys think Bane's feelings for Grace are moving too fast? Is it too soon to make a move? Favourite bits, least favourite bits, what made you laugh, what made you cry –**

**Okay I'll shut up now J**

**Love you lot, ESP. my regular reviewers. You know who you are ;) **


	9. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**_Opened up his little heart_**

**_Unlocked the lock that kept it dark_**

**_And read a written warning_**

**_He went crazy at nineteen _**

**_Said he'd lost all his self esteem_**

**_Lover, please, do not fall to your knees it's not_**

**_Like I believe in everlasting love_**

**_[Laura Marling – Ghosts]_**

The sky was just beginning to dim, turning a light, dusky blue, as Grace headed home. She'd spent most of the evening in the town library studying – because, after all, studying at home was impossible. The tiny apartment usually stank of weed, and when there wasn't bad pop music playing, men were traipsing in and out to either collect or just chat to Molony, leaving their rubbish and cigarette butts to decorate the floor.

It made Grace's skin _crawl_.

Still, she had to return home eventually – the library wouldn't let her sleep there (she'd already checked) – so she traipsed the streets, oddly quiet for East London, and prepared herself to face home.

Pulling her jacket closer as she flitted through her estate, she suffered the usual abuse from the knot of teens outside her building until they recognised her in the dim light. She stopped to chat quickly, allowing one of the boys – who was also in her business studies class at school – to light her cigarette, before hurrying inside, bidding them her usual polite _good nights_ as she went. Wrinkling her nose at the usual stink of piss as she stepped into the tiny, cramped lobby, she buried herself in the smell of cigarette smoke and pushed the button for the lift.

Her shoulders instinctively stiffened when she saw the vague reflection of two policemen in the dull lift doors. The police usually spelt bad news if they were on her estate, and she could see them approaching her building through the clear glass doors. Scowling to herself, she slid into the lift as it finally opened and watched one of the police men hurry to catch it – but too late. The door had shut and the lift was hurrying upwards away from them, hiding Grace's satisfied grin as she listened to them grumble.

Finally reaching her floor, she scowled to see her door dangling open. She could practically hear her Father snoring in the next room as she shuffled into the front room – combining as a kitchen, dining room, sitting room and her bedroom, as she camped out on the sofa. Slipping out of her shoes and pulling off her jumper, leaving her in a vest top and a faded, rather sad-looking pair of shorts, Grace scooped some post from the door mat and moved to slap it down on the counter.

What she saw there stopped her dead in her tracks.

A dozen small, see-through bags filled with cocaine lay, out in the open, on the counter. A god-knows-how-long prison sentence splayed across her kitchen. An image of the two policemen flashed across her mind and she felt sick to the stomach when she heard a pounding on the door she'd only just shut.

'_Open up!_'

For a long, horrible moment Grace had no idea what to do. The only sounds she could hear were her Dad snoring and some odd, clunking sounds in the bathroom – she took a bare second to wonder what those odd noises were. At that point she realised that if the two policemen took one step into the apartment, two grand's worth of cocaine would be in plain view. Swearing furiously under her breath as she watched the door begin to swing open, she quickly hurried over to block their view with her slim frame.

'Can I help you, officers?' She asked breathlessly, trying to seem as innocent as possible. Their faces were oddly sympathetic as the older one started up, bent slightly so they were face to face,

'Hello love. We've had a call about a noise report – the floor below made a complaint. Said there were odd noises from up here, like a woman being…' He trailed off, trying to put it tactfully, until the younger broke in bluntly,

'-beaten up. Someone said there was what seemed like a case of domestic abuse.'

Grace was honestly so bewildered – especially as she had only been in through the door thirty seconds – the absolute truth sounded like a stilted lie as she told them,

'I honestly don't know what you're talking about –'

She was cut off, as she spoke, by a gentle squeeze on her fingers. Her brow furrowed in utter confusion – until two arms wrapped around her waist. It was as if the gentle touch had acted as a warning and she willed herself not to finch as someone pressed a kiss on the top of her head. She even managed a gentle smile up at the two police men, who were glaring at her apparent saviour-come-home invader.

'Alright, love,' a familiar voice breathed into her ear – and she relaxed instantly, fears melting away. 'Can I help you, gentlemen?'

The two men gave each other shifty stare before turning their glares on the man stood behind Grace.

'We've come about a report of domestic violence,' the younger voice repeated stiffly.

'Here – can we move this outside? Her old man's asleep in the next room,' the voice explained. Eventually the elder policeman nodded and Grace felt a stab of loss as strong, powerful arms unwound from around her waist. The warmth returned, however, as a hand cocooned her own and the familiar, muscled figure lead her out into the corridor, the door shutting behind them.

'So – sorry, what was the complaint?'

Grace looked up at Bane as he stood next to her, fingers lacing with hers and sending her a gentle smile when he glanced down at her. She had no idea how he was in her apartment, or why, but she had never been more glad to see him.

'Noise-related,' one of the policemen confirmed, cautiously inspecting Grace as Bane came to stand behind her, taking up the same protective stance, arms round her waist. She could feel his breath tickle her ear, sending a shiver down her neck; she wasn't sure where Bane was going with this but she decided to play along as he gently nuzzled into the side of her neck. When she turned her head to look at him, genuine surprise glancing across her face, he pressed a feather-light kiss to the corner of her mouth. Hearing a pointed cough from the older policeman Grace turned her attention to him, feeling like an admonished kid.

'Sorry, mate – me and the misses don't get much of a chance to be alone together and when we do…' Bane trailed off and Grace could practically _hear _the smirk in his voice as one hand trailed to rest lazily on her hip. 'Anyway, that might explain the – uh, _noises. _We were trying not to wake up her old man,' Bane continued, snickering against the curve of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine despite their ridiculous conversation.

'We're going to have to check the apartment –' the younger man began primly, only to be dug in the ribs by the elder. Judging by his grin and the sparkle in his eyes, looking at the pair was bringing back his glory days. Judging by the pained expression on the younger man's face as his co-worker cut him off, he hadn't _had _any glory days.

'Come on Norman, give the kids their freedom,' the elder chortled.

'So you're sure he hasn't hurt you?' The younger pressed, looking anxiously at Grace as the hallway was cast into an awkward silence. Grace took a moment to turn to look at Bane, twisting so she could take his cheek in her hand and tilt up to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

'He'd never lay a finger on me,' she told the two men gently, for a long second not breaking eye contact with Bane.

'Alright, ma'am. Have a nice evening,' the elder man told them, tipping his hand courteously as Bane twisted round so he was facing Grace.

Taking her face in his hands, marvelling at how delicate she was compared to him, he pressed another gentle, searching kiss against her lips, edging her up so she was pressed against the wall. For a bare, incredible moment he could feel her back arch as she pushed her chest into his – then they both heard the lift door clang shut and Grace jerked away. She was staring at him, eyes wide, breathless, lips plumped, and he wondered if she'd ever kissed someone before.

'All for the show, eh, love?' He asked her quietly, voice rough. He got an anxious nod for his answer before Grace ducked under his arms, slipping into the flat. For a moment he stayed, head bowed, mind in turmoil. His face was flushed and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Watching, detached, as his hands shook, he squeezed his eyes shut and took a long breath.

Controlling himself, he followed Grace into the flat.

She didn't hear him as he entered; her back was turned as she stared at the bags of cocaine abandoned on the kitchen counter. Grace only recognised his presence when he gently touched his elbow.

'Who did this, Bane?' She asked carefully, struggling to keep her voice low and level. 'I mean, Dad _never _buys cocaine – besides, there's _no _way he could afford this, and even if he had… I mean, he's an idiot but he's _careful _– he'd never just _leave _it. And then the policemen – someone was _trying _to get us into trouble –'

'Hey, hey,' Bane interjected gently, twisting her round and pulling her into a surprisingly brotherly hug. 'You're gonna be alright,' he murmured into the top of her head, resisting the urge to kiss her as he had earlier.

The want grew stronger when she pulled away and he saw her pale face.

'Look – go wake up your Dad, ask him, he might know something about it. Okay? I'll put the kettle on.'

Grace gave him a long look, asking him with a genuine curiosity,

'Why are you being so nice?'

Bane shrugged, telling her the first thing he could think of that wasn't wildly inappropriate.

'Because you're my friend.'

Grace watched him for a moment, head tilted to one side – then, apparently satisfied, Grace nodded and hurried away, darting into a darkened room that smelt strongly of weed, ensuring the door was firmly shut behind her. Taking the opportunity to learn a little more about Grace, he peered around the small room. There were none of the usual basic household appliances – the most was a small microwave. The only form of entertainment seemed to be an ancient radio, and he tutted when he found most of Grace's possessions tucked into a cardboard box by the sofa. There was her usual battered walkman, a mixed pile of second-hand novels and her textbook, and –

Bane frowned, his fingertips ghosting over a photo frame. The glass had been cracked but he could still see the image; a beautiful, though obviously high, woman with her arms wrapped around a tiny, blond five year old girl. They were both smiling broadly and Bane's eyes crinkled in response when he realised the little girl was Grace; she was gap-toothed, her hair all over the place – _as adorable then as she was now_, Bane mused quickly before trying to banish the thought from his mind.

Hearing the door open again, Bane straightened, pretending to inspect a rack of CDs as he asked casually,

'Where's you mum, Grace?'

There was a tense pause, but eventually Grace explained evenly,

'She left when I was seven. She and Dad never got properly married.'

'Jesus, Grace, I'm sorry,' he murmured, inspecting a thick layer of dust on a Bob Marley C.D. case, not noticing the guilty expression on Grace's face as she turned away from him slightly.

'It's alright – you've been in care, you know what it's like.'

Bane shrugged, began another sentence, only to be stopped in his tracks. Grace was rootling through the freezer, cupping her cheek, a trickle of blood running through her fingers. Feeling himself stiffen, he darted towards her – although his gaze was focussed on the door into her Dad's room.

'Grace,' he growled out, not looking towards her, 'did your Dad –'

'_No_,' Grace interjected levelly, trying to smother the bite in her voice, 'no, Bane, Dad's lots of things but he'd never _ever _hit me.'

Finally Grace glanced towards her, feeling the anger drain out of him at the sight of Grace rolling her eyes as she rootled through the freezer door. He began to spit out,

'Then how –'

'Dad gets night terrors – his hand caught my face as he was waking up,' Grace explained, pulling her hand from her face and swearing when she saw the dab of blood there.

Abruptly aware he was being utterly useless, Bane darted towards Grace and asked,

'Have you got any ice?'

'Bane, we barely have a _freezer_, let alone –' she cut herself off sharply, taking a long breath and looking towards him. He watched as an odd jumble of emotions flickered across her face; fear, exhaustion, gratitude, a dash of guilt – all laid bare. 'Sorry – could you get me a tea towel and the first aid kit out of that cupboard?' She asked gently, pointing vaguely and pulling a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer. Bane nodded, retrieving what she had asked for and going to join her on the sofa where she sat, cross-legged. As she reached out for a pack of anti-septic wipes he pulled them out of her reach, telling her gently,

'It's fine. I'll do it.'

Catching Grace's uncertain stare he found it was his turn to roll his eyes. 'It'll be easier seeing as I can actually, you know, _see your face_.' Acquiescing with a nod, Grace tilted her face so he could get to the small cut on her cheekbone – coming from a ring on her Dad's hand – and winced as he dabbed against it. In an attempt to distract herself from the pain and the way Bane's fingers would occasionally brush against her skin, she started up,

'You should probably stop doing this.'

'Doing what?'

'You know – turning up, rescuing me from potentially dangerous or life-threatening situations. This is what – the third time now?' Her voice had a dry humour to it but she let the question dangle, staring down at her interlaced fingers. When Bane didn't respond she told him defiantly, her voice hot, 'I'm not a damsel in distress, you know! I don't need… _saving _–'

'I know,' Bane interrupted, gingerly putting a plaster over her cut and beginning to wrap the frozen peas in the tea towel. 'If there's anyone in the world who doesn't need saving, it's you. _But,_' he told her, face crinkling into a smile at the look of frustration on her face, 'just because you don't need saving doesn't mean you can't be helped.' Placing the frozen peas against her face, where he could see a bruise beginning to form already, he watched in fascination as she leaned into it. It was if she were resting her head against his hand, and he couldn't help but smile again when her eyes flickered shut.

'How come you were here anyway?' She asked, her voice thick with tiredness.

'Oh, I was just picking up an order.'

Grace somehow managed to raise an eyebrow even with her eyes shut, a smirk playing over her lips, forcing Bane to continue, '_and_… J mentioned your Dad got into trouble with some Dutch blokes. I thought I better stick around, check that you got home safe.'

Grace nodded slowly, her eyes by now having flickered open. Staring up at the boy in front of her, she told him slowly,

'You didn't have to do that.'

Bane nodded, shrugging his shoulders.

'I know, but I wanted to.' He stopped, screwing up his face, searching for the right words as he felt Grace's hand drift closer to his own. 'You're innocent,' he eventually explained, voice deep and husky. 'You should be –' _not protected, don't say protected, it's not the right word and she'll be cross_, '-looked after,' he finished, finally glancing down to meet Grace's gaze. She was staring up at him, eyes wide, her lips caught between a smile and a confused pout. When he grinned at her bemused expression she darted forward, one hand reaching out to lie over his own, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

He looked down at her, shocked, the frozen peas abandoned by their side, as for a moment they hung, suspended in silence. Then, finally, he stroked his thumb across her jaw and leaned in to kiss her.

It felt like it had outside but _better_, because this time it was real. Her lips were soft and malleable underneath his and she let out soft puffs of breath when she could, shifting so he could lean one hand against the back of the sofa. His arms cocooned her, one hand tentatively resting on her hip, and he realised that all he wanted in that moment to make her feel _safe_.

So Bane was understandably confused when she pulled away, pushing her head as far back into the sofa as she could to look at him.

'Are you sorry?' She asked him breathlessly, eyes wild. Ducking his head, Bane pressed small kisses against her skin, mumbling _what? _Into her neck.

_'Bane!'_ She snapped, grabbing him painfully by the hair and forcing him to look at her. 'Are you sorry?'

'_About what_?'

'About punching that boy the other day? In the sports hall?'

He stared at her wordlessly, mouth flapping open and shut before forcing out,

'What? No. He deserved it.'

He felt Grace's entire body stiffen and he bowed his head slightly in exasperation, knowing that somewhere, somehow, something had gone wrong.

'Get off me,' she murmured, hands resting stiffly on either side of her lap. When he watched them ball into fists he realised she was trying to stop them from shaking – _she's still scared of me_. Letting out a frustrated breath of air, Bane lowered his head until his forehead was rested on hers, his lips bare inches apart.

'I would never hurt you,' he mumbled.

'I don't care about hurting _me!_' She cried, her voice cut with frustration. 'I care about you hurting _other people –'_

'I'm not going anywhere until you –'

'Until I _what_?' Grace snarled out, her fury fuelled by her fear. 'Until I'm not scared of you anymore? Right, Bane, because _this _is the right way to go about it,' she bit out sarcastically, standing as soon as Bane had reluctantly released her wrists and backed off. 'Just because you're _bigger _than me, and stronger, doesn't mean I have to listen to – to your _warped _version of reason, alright? So just _leave_. _Thank you_ for helping me, but –' she visibly deflated a little, her shoulders slumping. 'I can't do… _this_,' she told him, voice hollow as she waved between them.

'_You _kissed me, Grace!' He told her harshly, his voice rising in frustration as he watched her separate herself from him, edging behind the sofa. He opened his mouth to speak again only to see Molony standing in the doorway to his room, looking more alert than Bane had ever seen him. For a moment the two men stared at each other, Molony's arms folded across a skinny chest but finally Bane shrugged angrily, rubbing at his eyes.

'If that's what you want, love, that's fine,' he snapped, stalking out of the door and slamming it shut behind him.

Grace flinched at the sound, staring blankly after him. Finally she looked up at her Father, who was watching her carefully, waiting for the inevitable. Bowing her head, Grace hurried across the room and threw her arms around her Dad, burying her face into the crook of his neck as she cried.

'I know love. I know.'

**A/N: Aww. Molony is crap but he's not ****_that _****crap.**

**Been battling through EPQ and my personal statement and arguments with my parents to get you this chapter whoooo.**

**So yes. I ummed and ahh-ed about this chapter; I was going to change it so that Bane just went home because I thought it was moving to quickly. But then I added in the retrospection Bane had last chapter about his falling in love quickly and deeply and I think this followed on from that nicely, as did Grace's hesitation and fear? **

**Anyway. Thank you for all your awesome reviews last chapter! You really responded so well and were so helpful, which helped the origin of this chapter. Thanks to: ladyannabeth, Fumblepaws, Wolflihood, kendramccormick, Sam0728, Grace, coco181. (And thanks to a new follower, Old Gregg93, whose name made me chuckle because it reminded me of 'OLD GREGG'S GOT A MANGINA' from the Mighty Boosh.]**

**So with that we have the QOTD: What's your guys' favourite tv show? I think at the moment mine is The Hour, only because it hasn't been on tv for a while and I saw some clips for the second series last night and am now SUPER EXCITED. Ben Whishaw is a God. Have you guys seen it? They're showing it on BBC America; it's worth the watch.**

**And a fic-related question: did you guys like this chapter? What did you think of the kiss? Too much too fast? I loved writing the bit at the start with the policemen, eheh. Bane is so cheeky. Do you think it ended right?**

**This is like two billion QOTD. Also this is the longest chapter I've done so far for this fic! Whew. Do you guys prefer longer or shorter chapters?**

**Favourite bits, funny lines, anything you found good or bad? REVIEW, PLEASE it makes me so happy!**


	10. Chapter 8

**_A/N: Hello my lovelies! Sorry it's been such a long time. Just going to do a few anon review replies (read them if you want a little insight, perhaps, into where this story's going…)_**

**_Ladyannabeth – chapter 3_**

**_I like how you wrote "we know Grace won't die tragically". Aha, but we are yet to meet our story's end. Perhaps Grace will have a tragic ending…_**

**_But I also liked what you mentioned about "you've made [Bane] even more human by having him make all the wrong choices even though he knows there's something better out there" – all my writing, fanfiction or not, is about people and the choices they make. I'm being greatly inspired by Wuthering Heights at the moment and the idea of pride and cold logic becoming before love – I find that idea fascinating, and want to bring a little of that into this._**

**_Ladyannabeth – chapter 7_**

**_"It fleshes out Grace even more and we actually get to see the side of her that really is the daughter of a drug dealer". Lots of people have mentioned this aspect of Grace's character that I never really thought of before – early reviews mentioned that Grace must be a bit of a badass. So I'm dreaming up plot thread that explores that aspect of her personality a little more. It's all coming together in my head guys, very exciting!_**

**_Also: YES! I loved Crane the tickle monster too, bless him. Completely and unashamedly OOC but the idea made me giggle._**

**_'Grace'_**

**_Thank you so much! I'm trying to bring out that underprivileged background (Bane reminds me of Plan B, haha! But, you know, more deadly terrorist than political rapper…). Also his English accent gives me the perfect opportunity to write a fanfiction set in my home country. Tom Hardy's voice/accent is GORGEOUS and I suggest all the readers check it out on YT if you want an idea of how Bane speaks in this fic. (Because, like Batman, I think Bane puts on that voice because he's wearing a mask)._**

**_Not an anon but shout out to the awesome 'Old Gregg' who left a review. HI. Yes, best ep of The Mighty Boosh in the world._**

**_Amanda:_**

**_I did research to check they did A Levels in 1988, eheh. Yeah, I wanted to include it to give it that authentic feel (and also the English A Level system is VERY different to the US equivalent, so it needed some explanation as to why the characters are taking the subjects they do._**

**_Now: on with the story!_**

**_(Note: half way through Bane uses the word 'gel'. This means girl, pronounced like hair GEL but with a hard g. There you go!)_**

**_Tired of the sound_**

**_I've heard before_**

**_The gnawing of the night time at the door, _**

**_Haunted by the things I've made._**

**_I was broken_**

Grace avoided him for a week – she even swapped seats with someone in maths so she was huddled right in the back corner of the room. He couldn't watch her without rather pointedly twisting in his seat and _staring_, so he made do with sending her quick glances when he checked the clock on the back wall. She was always working, head bowed, hair framing her face – there was one moment where she might have been looking at him, but her eyes snapped away before he could tell.

He found himself missing her smile and the way her eyes used to light up sometimes when she caught him grinning at her. He missed the small groan she made when she made the _same _mistake in a maths problem and he missed the way, when she was irritated, she would cluck her tongue and scowl. He missed _her_.

Still. All this was better than lying to her. He already felt guilty for keeping his childhood locked away from her; he didn't want to start adding white lies about boys with broken noses into the mix.

So when said boy appeared, his feelings were momentarily jumbled. When he'd been speaking to Grace he _hadn't _felt guilty – yet, seeing the boy with an odd sort of nose guard and two dark bruises underneath his eyes, his stomach clenched. He rarely saw the consequences of his attacks – he'd broken bones before, had once stabbed a boy's hand with a fork – and he couldn't help feeling guilty. He'd never felt _guilt_ before – all of his attacks, he had thought, were either deserved or provoked. But perhaps he'd been a little _too _violent with the year thirteen boy.

So he couldn't blame the way Damien flinched when Bane popped up next to him as he pulled a few books from his locker.

'You alright, mate?' Bane asked forcedly, clapping a hand on Damien's shoulder until he cringed away.

'Look, if you're going to throw me in a bin can you just… _get on with it?_' Damien whispered, earning a stare of confusion from Bane.

'Look, mate, I'm not a bully, I just get –'

'Could have fooled me,' Damien snorted, slamming his locker shut, rucksack in hand.

'Hey, look – I'm sorry about your nose and all,' Bane told him awkwardly, his own nose crinkling up as he looked down at the boy in front of him. He was a skinny thing with pale skin and thick-rimmed glasses. Abruptly he _did_ feel like a bully. 'I just overreacted – I was worried about my friend.'

Damien stared at him, eyes narrowed and shrewd.

'I know Grace. She's a sweet kid.' He paused, running his tongue over his teeth, sending Bane a look that made him feel like the boy – a year younger than Damien – that he was. 'You two are friends, then?'

'Well,' Bane frowned, scratching anxiously at the back of his head, 'we're sort of fighting at the moment.' Damien nodded, head cocked to one side.

'Look, it's cool – there's not going to be any permanent damage to my nose or anything. Don't worry about it.'

Bane blinked rapidly, flushing a deep red. Just as he'd never apologised to someone he'd hit or beaten up, he'd never been forgiven – it was a lightening sensation and he felt a little more free on his toes afterwards. He was jolted out of his reverie by Damien clapping him on the shoulder and wandering off as the bell rang shrilly.

Shaking the dumbstruck expression away from his face, Bane realised he was going to be late for his games lesson and broke into a sprint – hence why he didn't see Grace staring after him a small smile playing across her lips.

'Damien!'

The boy jumped – it was the second time he had been approached that day and, as someone who was used to melting into the crowds, it was fraying his nerves. He turned to stare at Grace, eyebrow raised. He knew what had happened wasn't Grace's fault, but as he smiled at her and felt a twinge of pain in his sore nose, he couldn't help but feel a matching twinge of resentment.

'Hello, Grace,' he smiled uneasily; he was itching to head home early, his free periods last thing on a Wednesday the perfect opportunity to skive school. She bobbed her head anxiously, looking up at him with bright eyes, the full view of Grace's face for the first time pulling a wince out of him.

'What the hell happened to you?' He gawped, resisting the urge to trace a hand over the heavy, dark bruise on her face. The mark was beginning to fade but by the way the crinkling of her eyes or the raising of an eyebrow was followed by a wince, it still hurt. Rolling her eyes, Grace let out a light laugh and explained,

'My Dad gets really bad night-terrors – he clipped me when I was trying to wake him up.' Both were aware of how hollow – how false – her words sounded, falling around them like lies; luckily, no one who had questioned Grace so far, teachers and students alike, had cared enough to press the matter. Whilst Grace _had _managed to attach herself to a small knot of girls, she was still relatively solitary and spent most of her time alone, nigh-on disappearing most lunchtimes. She didn't have enough particularly close friends to worry themselves about her – unlike Bane's group of four tightly bound friends – and so felt uncomfortable when Damien leaned forward and asked in an low voice,

'Did _Bane _do that to you –'

'Jesus, Damien, no!' Grace interrupted, a mixture of outrage and frustration laced with her voice. Raising his hands in defence, Damine told her bitterly,

'To be fair, he _does _sort of have a track record.'

Although the evidence was right in front of her in the form of Damien's broken nose, Grace gritted her teeth, jaw clenching dangerously. Struggling to keep her voice soft and gentle, she continued,

'I'm _fine_. I was just wondering – I, uh, I saw you talking with Bane earlier.'

Glancing down at her feet awkwardly, aware of the way her voice echoed down the corridor –she had skipped maths to hunt Damien's locker down, and had happened to catch him at the right moment – Grace forced herself to ask, 'what were you guys talking about?'

Damien turned on her as his locker automatically snapped shut, eyes narrowing. He and Grace were barely friends – they were closer to pleasant acquaintances – and he couldn't help but wonder on the abrupt interest she had taken in his social life.

'Why do you want to know?' He eventually replied, leaning his shoulder against the lockers in an attempt to deduce Grace. Unfortunately, Grace Clarke was fairly unreadable; her features should have felt like an open book but, on closer inspection, the constant, gentle animation of her face hid more than it revealed. A curl of blonde hair was hanging in her eyes and her lips remained staid, pulled into a strict line as she attempted to find an answer. The most expressive part of the girl was the constant twisting of her long fingers, revealing her struggles as she eventually met his gaze.

'We're – uh, we're kind of arguing at the moment. And I noticed he, uh – he's never really talked to you before –'

'He mentioned the two of you were fighting.'

Damien mainly told Grace this so he could play a game of _spot the reactions; _hers was barely perceptible, but her eyes lit up a fraction.

'Really? Bane talked to you about me?' Grace asked sceptically. Damien nodded and she took a moment to puff a breath of air through her lips.

Her face changed – abruptly. Every reserve, every barrier broke and a look of pure desperation welled up from her eyes and melted her hardened features. Throat tight, she muttered,

'Please Damien, just – just tell me what he said.'

Looking at the little girl before him, Damien realised that everything about the pair was so far gone beyond his realm of understanding. The way Bane had so brutally jumped to her protection – how Grace was looking at him now, so desperate and pleading. An odd bond had formed between these two broken people – so fast, so intense – and Damien knew he would never get to grips with it. It wasn't love or affection – it was if each sensed the other was splintered and broken, knew no one else in the world would be quite like them, and had been involuntarily drawn closer together. Very unhealthy – very _Disco Pigs_.

Damien saw that, no matter how odd and dangerous that unique bond was, the pair now couldn't stand to see it broken. If he could do something to fix the pair he would, Damien figured.

'Honestly – it wasn't much. He came up to me, apologised – said he'd overreacted when he saw you get hurt. That was it, really.'

'_And?_' Grace pressed. 'What did you say?'

'Uh – not much. Just that it alright.'

'You forgave him?' Grace clarified, knotting her fingers together now as Damien shrugged.

'Honestly – it wasn't a big deal.'

Grace nodded slowly, looking faintly dazed. She stared down at her feet for a few, long moments, then blinked herself back into her usual smile. Shooting Damien a sweet grin she wandered away – breaking into a jog when she realised how late she was for her lesson. Watching her faded rucksack bounce on her shoulders, Damien wondered to himself what made the girl so messed up, to have a bond with Bane. He could guess at Bane – the boy had been in care, lived with a foster family now, obviously there was _something _behind all that – but Grace seemed lik ea hive of carefully contained secrets.

Shaking his head to clear himself of thoughts, Damien wandered away, scrambling through his pockets to see if he had enough money for the bus home or if he'd have to walk as the heavens opened outside.

**A/N: Song: I Was Broken – Marcus Foster**

**Hello! Sorry it's been a while. I had this chapter half written and I was determined to upload it yesterday but… Well life.**

**Yesterday I got my AS level results and I did really well – 2 As and 2 BS. But I got a D in English Literature, which pretty much broke my heart. So yesterday involved a lot of crying and me worrying, as I want to do English Lit at uni. Not to worry though – our ENTIRE CLASS OF TOP SET A/S LEVEL STUDENTS got Es, Us or Ds. (A U is an ungraded, so a FAIL, which was awarded to a boy who got nearly full marks in his coursework). It makes no sense and our teacher is getting all the papers recalled and remarked – he thinks there was a marking problem and that they'll all go up, and he's still confident I'll get a top mark. I'm aiming for A* in English so it really is ridiculous, the grades we all got.**

**Love to all :) Ooh, QOTD: what film have you seen a trailer for and gone, ooh, I REALLY want to see that. I'm obsessing over Lawless and a beautiful looking new Cillian Murphy film with Rory Kinnear in called Broken. You can watch both trailers on the ole' YT. Also did anyone else get their results yesterday? Were you pleasantly surprised or HORRIFICALLY SURPRISED as I was?**

**Anyway, thank you for my reviews last chapter. To all the regular readers who may have missed it – I uploaded a small part 1 to the prologue. Tell me what you think, chicaaaas.**

**So please review. I'm pretty drained after yesterday, all the crying and feels, and still really worried. YOUR REVIEWS ARE BEAUTIFUL AND COMFORTING AND YOU SHOULD FEEL SORRY FOR ME I MIGHT HAVE TO TAKE A GAP YEARRRRR.**

**Love to all :) Ooh, QOTD: what film have you seen a trailer for and gone, ooh, I REALLY want to see that. I'm obsessing over Lawless and a beautiful looking new Cillian Murphy film with Rory Kinnear in called Broken. You can watch both trailers on the ole' YT.**


	11. Chapter 9

**Fic Rec: (because we're doing those now) I really enjoyed 'Harder to Breathe' by SnowBird1452. It's only got one chapter at the moment and it's great, got a nice contrast between a younger character and Bane. Go and check it out!**

* * *

**_I'm still that same boy I was_**

**_Why can't we just rewind?_**

* * *

Bane stared suspiciously at the note on his desk, eyebrow raised. He hadn't seen where it had come from – he had been watching out the window, fascinated, as rain started to fall in heavy sheets without warning. He'd just looked down to his textbook and saw said note staring back at him. He could formulate a fairly good guess, however, as to whom the note came from, if the perfectly sharp edges and his name written in neat, familiar handwriting was anything to go by.

_I need to talk to you – G._

He quickly scribbled a reply, frustration mounting as he wrote. He _wanted _to speak to Grace but his own pride was getting in the way – he hated the way she seemed to have him at her beck and call. Passing the note back, he surreptitiously watched Grace's face crumple as she scanned over his curt, utterly irrelevant reply.

_J asked me to tell u he wanted to have a session nxt tues evening 6_

He didn't know why they were passing notes – the classroom was its usual chaotic jumble of noise – but it felt oddly satisfactory to see her pleading marked down on a centimetre ruled A5 bit of paper.

_Bane. Please._

It would be too far, too sadistic, he supposed, to _watch _her face fall when he crumpled the note up in his hand.

Bending his head over the textbook, he felt Grace's gaze burn into the side of his head for the entire rest of the lesson. He didn't know how to feel when he realised this was the first maths lesson where he'd seen Grace allow herself to become distracted by anything. So, instead of hanging around to let his brain formulate a response, he tore his way out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang.

Grace watched as Bane rushed away from the classroom, her fist curling in frustration. Rushing her hands through her – now incredibly messy – hair to distract herself, Grace shot a glare to a group of girls who were giggling at her, smiled to their bored-looking teacher, and left.

She had barely caught up with him by the time the pair reached the car park – he was scrabbling round in his pockets, searching for his keys. She stood in the near empty car park that would soon flood with fellow pupils, her thin clothes quickly becoming soaked through as she folded her arms.

'Bane,' she called, rolling her eyes and taking an step closer when he ignored her and started rootling through his bag. Snatching at the sleeve to his jacket, she flinched when he wrenched his arm away, glaring down at her. Her throat constricted, seeing the coldness in his blue eyes, and she diverted her attention to peeling a wet strand of hair from her forehead. 'Bane. Please stop ignoring me.'

He eventually rounded on her, watching her shiver defensively, water running from the planes of his face. His movements were jerky and stiff as he swiped water from his nose and jabbed a finger towards her.

'Oh, no, gel – _you're _the one who's been ignoring me!'

Grace swallowed, turning her face to one side when she realised she had no reply and Bane was turning back to his school bag.

'Look – I saw you talking to Damien –'

'Oh yeah? What about it?' Bane snapped back, not looking at her but no longer concentrating on the search for his evasive keys either. The car part was quickly filling up with students and parents – luckily no one was interested in the bickering pair in the corner.

'He told me you apologised.' When Bane didn't say anything Grace's teeth gritted and she snapped out, 'it doesn't work like that, alright? Just saying sorry doesn't change anything with us if you don't mean it –'

'_It's not about you!_' Bane exploded, his shout ringing out across the car park as his hand clenched absently around the keys he had finally found. He was livid – Grace could see him shaking – and by the hot feeling in her cheeks, her anger was showing too. 'I saw him, I talked to him, I felt bad, _I apologised_! The whole world doesn't revolve around you, Clarke!'

The comment, the odd way he called her by her surname – it all stung. Luckily, it was overwhelmed by the light feeling in Grace's chest which she was only distracted from by the sound of a car door slamming. Scowling, she wrenched the door open and stared across at the young boy.

'Grace, what are you doing? I have to go pick up –'

'You _really _felt bad? You felt guilty?'

Bane scowled but nodded minutely, running a hand through his already messy hair. Grace took a deep breath, struggling to meet Bane's eye when he wouldn't look at her. Settling with speaking to the top of his head, Grace sighed and told bane quietly,

'I'm sorry. About everything.'

She laughed gently at his shocked, bemused expression as she leaned against the battered frame of his car.

'I, uh…' Grace trailed off for a moment, clearing her throat and shifting her gaze to one side. Eventually she started up again, swiping her soaked hair from her forehead, 'I missed you. Which is weird. But, um, yes.'

Bane laughed at that, throwing his head back a little and enjoying the way the rain flicked against his face. She looked very small and very cold, but she was grinning through her blushes and the rain, and he liked that.

'I missed you too,' he told her gruffly, watching as Grace held out her hand. 'Friends?' He asked cautiously, not yet taking her up her peace offering.

'Friends,' she confirmed. There was a lot more she could say – about over-reacting and missing him and stolen kisses in dark hallways – but she didn't. She found that she couldn't, and, with the way their eyes had finally connected, both crinkling under their smiles in exactly the same way, she didn't need to.

They didn't shake hands – just held on for a few short moments before Grace gave his fingers a gentle squeeze and told him,

'Lunchtime tomorrow. Bring your maths textbook!'

'Now that we're friends will my lesson be free of charge?'

Grace grinned to herself, calling over her shoulders as she wandered towards the exit of the car park,

'Don't push your luck!'

* * *

**A/N: **

**[Song: Paolo Nutini – Rewind]**

**Hello. Kind of down today. My mother is being a cow, as is the way of mothers.**

**Bit of a filler chapter, this one. But kinda fluffy, I think. Did you enjoy it?**

**Just a reply to an anon review, Amanda: thank you so much! You're such a sweetie :) yeah I don't know what was up with AQA this year but it was awful; luckily I'm in for priority remarks. At least you got a B, I got a D! Ehhhh. And thank you very much, I really enjoyed writing this chapter.**

**Anyway! If you'd like your story to be potentially recommended in this chapter (I might even dare merge into… OTHER FANDOM FICS, if I like it enough and I know the fandom) then leave a review telling me. **

**Got any other comments? Good, bad or ugly? I miss hearing from you guys! Love to all my regular reviewers, they're the bomb J**

**So… Go on! You know what to do! More reviews mean faster updates, of course.**


	12. Chapter 10

**_When I grow up_**

**_I will be tall enough to reach the branches_**

**_That you have to reach to climb the trees_**

**_You get to climb when you're grown up._**

**_[Tim Minchin – When I Grow Up]_**

Bane jumped when Grace slammed her textbooks down on the table next to him. He was camped out in an unusually empty sixth form common room with his lunch and a phrasebook in hand.

'_Ou est la bibliotheque_?' He mumbled around his sandwich before he was interrupted.

'_Parlez-vous Francais?_' Grace asked teasingly, her accent flawless – _of course it is_, Bane mused dryly, rolling his eyes at her.

'You speak French? Why am I not surprised?'

'Shut up, I took it for O Level. Why are you learning?' Grace asked curiously, peering over his shoulder until he snapped the book shut.

'Mum's got family in France – she wants to take us all there but no one speaks a word,' Bane explained with a raised eyebrow, before pausing to watch Grace stare at his sandwich, eyes wide. 'Hungry?' He asked sarcastically, drawing the girl out of her daze as her face flushed red.

'No – no, I'm fine –'

'Have you _eaten _today?'

Grace took in a deep breath as if to protest – then let her shoulders slump, apparently giving up before she'd even started the lie.

'No. There's no food in my house,' Grace explained, her voice heavy. Eventually Bane pushed the uneaten half of his sandwich towards her, raising his eyes to the ceiling in frustration when she began to politely protest.

'You need it more than I do, you twat,' Bane eventually insisted, quickly quieting as she plucked up the sandwich. He waited for her to finish before opening up a packet of crisps for them to share, tilting them towards her as he asked absently,

'I hardly ever see you at lunch – where do you disappear off to?'

'I sometimes eat lunch with my Mum,' Grace explained, lighting a greasy roll up and standing to open a window.

'I thought you said your Mum left you?'

Grace froze, her eyes flickering along the windowpane for a moment, glad her back was turned to Bane so he couldn't see her reaction.

'I sometimes go see her at lunch times. It's kind of a tradition now.'

Bane shrugged, thinking nothing of it – not noticing the slight tremor of Grace's hand as she nabbed a crisp and slipped open her textbook, all the while juggling her cigarette.

On Bane's next maths homework, his grade rose from a U to an E. Although part of the change came from the fact it was the first time he'd _done _his homework all year, he couldn't help but feel a jolt of triumph when Grace shot him a thumbs up from across the row. She looked pretty that day, he concluded – her hair tumbled over her slender shoulders and she was smiling than usual. She looked less tired, too.

As a matter of fact, Grace _felt _less tired than usual – although there was still a substantial prison sentence's worth of cocaine in her flat, Molony had found somewhere to hide it. He hadn't told her where – he supposed it was safer – but for some reason it was comforting. She'd cut down on the amount of times she'd gone to visit her Mum during school, in turn reducing the number of nightmares and cut up night's sleep. There was a churn of guilt every time she'd scheduled a tutoring session with Bane rather than gone to visit the woman, but she couldn't handle the sleepless nights it brought on any more.

So she'd been feeling pretty chirpy on the day Bane's math grade finally improved – so much so that it was barely dampened by someone calling out,

_'Slut.'_

As Grace walked down an empty corridor towards the car park she span, trying to locate the sharp, feminine voice that had called out to her. Figuring she was either hearing things or she had a ghostly verbal attacker, she shrugged and continued down the corridor towards the car park. Raising a hand to the scrawny figure waiting for her by the school gate, she scowled when she realised he was holding an umbrella but no car keys of any sort.

'It's alright – we're not going far,' the figure told her over the sound of beating rain, seeing the disgruntled expression on her face. Grace rolled her eyes – she was _freezing _– and sent a bitter smile to Jonathan Crane as she held out her hand. He stared at her blankly for a moment – but then, spotting the raised goose bumps on her arms, he grinned sheepishly and passed her his scarf.

'Sorry; Bane has the car – but there's a café that's holding a booth for us. It's usually quiet this time of day.'

Grace nodded disinterestedly – she'd never been particularly enamoured with Jonathan since she'd caught him slobbering over her at her place of work. She was being Crane's case study as a favour to Bane, and for the money – she was neither interested in discovering more about the relationship she had with her parents, or talking to Crane.

As they began to walk away from the school, the early-October air biting, Grace took in her surroundings with wide eyes. She'd lived in east London all her life, and when they walked past the gate of her old school, she made Jonathan stop. It was just as much a shit-hole as her current stage, but there was a fondness to her gaze as she took it in. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she remembered the day she was in year ten and stood looking out through the gate for an hour, fingers gripping the bars as she watched the steam from her breath. Her Dad had promised to come pick her up that day but had forgotten, leaving her waiting loyally, wide eyes staring out into the cold. She'd been a little thing, much smaller than the other girls her age, built like a stick; Grace had consequentially built up an odd image of her own childish naivety and trust, all encapsulated by huge eyes, waiting until the sky started to dim.

Snapping back into reality as Jonathan gingerly touched her elbow, Grace smiled and prised her cold fingers away from the gate. Fleetingly, she wandered if, in amongst the stream of kids from the school down the road she'd watched that day, Bane had sauntered past.

Grace jolted back into her default politeness, charming Jonathan with pretty smiles and interested little hums as he chattered away about university. She was aware that revealing her ability to slip on masks and shifts in attitude wasn't such a good feature to present to a psychologist. She should have stuck to the hard persona she'd adopted in the café, Grace reasoned internally – but her easy, pretty politeness was her preferred state. She wondered how much that natural state differed from Bane's, who seemed to thrive on theatrics, drama and _anger_. It didn't come out often, but sometimes he'd produce odd turns of phrase that made her think he'd be a good actor. Or politician.

Grace saw a lot of Bane in Jonathan even though the pair weren't related; they seemed to have picked up little traits from one another. Bane had a matching, intense stare that had clearly originated in Jonathan and his shameless inspection. Yet Jonathan had a sort of oblivious bluntness that she was sure was all Bane. Both boys shared a lilting upwards lift in their smiles, though – a playful half-grin that she noticed as she chatted with Jonathan.

Of course there was also that same dark edge in Jonathan – better hidden by the elder psychology student, as was to be expected. But sometimes, by the way he pushed her buttons, edged a toe over the line, and the flashes in his eyes, Grace saw the same leaning towards destruction that Bane carried in him. _They would make an excellent team_, Grace had mused dryly.

On Grace's stipulation, their meeting lasted an hour so she could get home and finish her homework. It was far more informal than Grace had expected – she felt information about her past slipping away from her, rather than being interrogated out of her. It was when she found herself recounting a tale of her childhood without even being prompted that she realised Jonathan would be an excellent psychiatrist. She decided to plough on nevertheless.

It was a simple little tale she told, expecting Crane to pull out all sorts of metaphors in his notes; when she was five, her mother had taken her to the zoo – it was one of the earliest memories of the woman, all marked out in key details. Her mother was pretty and still young – Grace had inherited her blonde hair from the woman but had picked up her father's stormy grey eyes. Grace only remembered her mother's hazel gaze from photographs for most of her life. The woman was wearing a bright pink t-shirt and let her daughter swing off the dry palm of her hand all day.

Grace recounted flashes to Jonathan; the stickiness of the pair's entwined hands as the summer heat wore on; a sickly sweet shared ice cream. Sticky hands, sticky mouths, sticky faces. A sticky situation when her Mum realised she didn't have enough money to pay the disgruntled waiter, until Grace triumphantly pulled a shiny twenty pence piece from the floor.

They had been trailing the zoo and the day was drawing to an end. Grace's feet dragged – the little girl was exhausted, allowing her mother to scoop her into the arms. She didn't set foot on the ground again until they came to the lion enclosure.

Grace tugged on her mother's shoulders, fascinated, as they arrived halfway through a feeding. She scrambled from her mother's arms and stared, wide-eyed, over the fence. A grin crept over her face at the terrifying power behind every coiled muscle as the lion's pounced on the slabs of raw meat. Her jaw dropped when she saw one line give a tearing raw and claw the cage where the food came through, rattling it in its hunger.

Although the zoo was half an hour from closing, Grace seemed determined to stay by the lion enclosure as long as possible. Her mother watched with an amused grin, puffing away on a roll-up, as her small daughter chattered animatedly with the zoo keeper. Grace spoke with her hands more than her words, arms wheeling wide, trying to express her excitement at the raw power she had seen for the first time in these animals.

Eventually they were – rather reluctantly – turfed out by the zoo keeper, who made them promise to return, after giving Grace a leaflet about the predators. Just outside the zoo, Grace's mother was knelt before her tiny daughter perched on a bench, tying a wayward shoelace, head tilted to one side as she watched her daughter shift from side to side.

'Grace?'

'Yes, ma?'

'Look… When you grow up, people are going to call you lots of things. They might mistake you for – for a bird, or even a mouse. You just have to remember that inside, you're a lion, alright?'

Grace crumpled up her face, considering her mother's warms, then replied with the unwitting wisdom only belonging to the very young and innocent – combined with an irritating literalism,

'But… Won't people be cross when they find out I'm actually a lion? And what if everyone else is a bird or a mouse inside _and _outside? And isn't it lying, _calling _yourself a little, gentle animal when you're actually a big, _scary _animal with great big teeth –'

'Tell you what,' Grace's mother interrupted, 'you have to find someone who's sort of doing what you're doing. Who's pretending too – someone who looks like a lion, and pretends to be a lion, and who everyone _calls _a lion, but is actually – really deep down – a bird. Or a mouse. Because then you can help them bring out the soft, little-animal pieces and they can help you bring out the scary lion bits. And then you'll fit – like puzzle pieces.'

Grace swung her legs, head pushed to one side, taking in what her mother told her – then nodded.

''Kay,' she said with childish simplicity, taking her mum's hand as she left.

Grace's voice was hoarse by the time she had finished her story, and she took a sip of the tap water the waiter had reluctantly brought her.

'Did you ever go back to the zoo?' Jonathan pressed.

'Nah – it's back in Ireland, round near Cork. Probably shut down by now.'

'Right. And would you say you ever returned to a moment like that with your mother?'

Grace knew what he was saying. _Do you still get on with your mum? Did you have a consistent relationship? Not quite subtle enough._

Pursing her lips, Grace stood, hands on her hips.

'I think that's been about an hour, hasn't it?'

'Well, actually –'

'Same time next week? See you then.'

And she was gone, leaving Jonathan sat stunned, as in a flurry of school bags and a pleated skirt he was alone.

**A/N:**

**The song the lyrics are from at the start of the chapter are ADORABLE, you guys should take a listen.**

**Whew, that was a long one! Took me a while to type up (mainly because I got distracted by eleven drunk guys play Slender – I mean, ahem, some really intellectual stuff….)**

**Also the Hour Series 2 trailer. I FREAKED. OUT. **

**Anyway. How are you guys? I only got 2 reviews last chapter and I miss hearing from you! Love to those who did review though :L I was asked for a longer chapter so I delivered – and a teensy bit of Bane/Grace fluff.**

**Lots of mysteries/intrigue really slowly building up in this chapter – me desperately trying to bring in a number of different plot threads. I have to keep a hold on 2 big reveals coming up, the Bruce & Blake story line in the background AND a billion plot threads.**

**Uhhh. Anyway! How is everyone? The bird/lion thing felt very trippy but I wrote it at around midnight.**

**QOTC: What do you guys think of Grace? I write a lot from Bane's perspective-ish, so I'm not sure what you guys think? This chapter fleshes her out a bit.**

**Please PLEASE review, it means the world to me!**

**_Next Chapter:_**

**_Bane/Grace fluff and banter, and some light shed on Bane's foster mother and his past._**


	13. Chapter 11

**_Don't you want to share the guilt?_**

**_Don't speak, just try and sleep._**

_Gotham Manor, 2016_

'Did we ever get a testimonial from Bane's foster mother?'

Blake blinks blearily at the time on his phone. _Three o clock in the morning and Bruce still hasn't got the hang of time differences._

'Uh, Bruce, it's – um, it's pretty early –'

'Did you make any form of contact with her?' Bruce interrupts, his voice hollow.

'Once I was sure she had no idea about Bane's survival and that they weren't still in contact, I went to visit her,' Blake explains uneasily, 'I still have a copy of the transcript –'

'Why didn't you include it?'

'Uh, I didn't think it was relevant –'

'_I _will decide what is and isn't relevant,' Bruce cuts in again, an edge to his voice. Blake frowns, rolling his eyes at his own reflection in the mirror, taking in his ruffled hair and the bags under his eyes. Jet lag and the unfamiliarity of being back in England is taking its toll – and it all isn't helped by his feeling constantly on edge. As he speaks to Bruce he half hopes for, half dreads an order – a final decision on Bane and Grace's fate.

'You okay, Boss?'

A rattled sigh comes heavily down the speaker.

'Yeah, I – I haven't been sleeping well.'

'How far are you into that file?'

'Just coming up to November Twelfth.'

Blake nods to himself – with that reference point he realises Bruce is tearing with alarming speed through a file that's thicker than his arm.

'Just don't read it all at once, alright? I'll email over that transcript now, okay?'

Bruce hangs up after some idle chit chat and Blake begins fiddling with his phone, searching for the long-buried file containing the transcript of his interview with Rosa.

She had been an aged, worried-looking woman with soft-looking eyes, opening the door with an anxious smile. There was a stale smell to the house that Blake picked up as he was invited inside, having explained he was a police officer from the USA carrying out an investigation. She'd offered him tea – an instinctive offer from the British when welcoming strangers into their homes, he'd found – and handed him a glass of water when he'd declined. She seemed anxious to busy herself and wouldn't meet his eye until he told her quietly.

'I'm here to mainly talk to you about Agracianna Molony's relationship with Bane,' he began pleasantly enough, only to have Rosa turn on him, eyes narrowed.

'Grace is a good girl – you ain't to go bothering her, do you hear me?'

'Are you two still in contact?' Blake asked levelly, taking a seat at a well-worn breakfast table.

'She rang me during… During that whole business with Gotham. Asked me how I was doing, if I'd spoken to Bane. But I ain't seen hide or hair of him for nearly fifteen years now,' Rosa shrugged, shuffling towards the other chair and lowering herself into it.

It was near the start of the investigation, when the file was only a few pages full and he had no idea how close grace and Bane had been – only that they'd known each other briefly in their teens.

'And did she speak to him at all when Gotham was under siege?'

He blinked, remembering cold, hard snow and Commissioner Gordan laid out like a crumpled playing card in a bed, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. If this Grace was another _femme fatal _– another _bloody _Miranda Tate – he would shoot her now, no matter what Bruce said.

'God no. She was _livid _when she found out. Rang me up, ranting away. I always thought she could forgive that boy everything – but I'm not sure. Maybe he crossed a line. Though she cried when she found out he was dead.'

'Were you upset? With him, I mean?'

Rosa rested her chin in her hand, a far away look in her eyes as she slowly considered his question.

'I loved Bane like I would love my own son but – to think a… A _monster _like that was in my house with young children, corrupting poor Jonathan too?' There was something bitter and hard in the set of Rosa's jaw as she continued with a shiver, 'it makes me sick to the stomach. I saw him break that poor Doctor's neck on the news – I could never forgive him that. I don't think Grace ever could either.'

'The two were close, then?'

'God, yes!' Rosa shot back instantly, a light returning to her eyes as she smiled. 'Thick as thieves. You just ahd to look at them to see they were going to get married and grow old together.'

'And did they?' Blake asked stupidly, for a moment getting caught up in the idea that was already causing him to doubt himself – that this Bane and Grace story was like an odd fairy tale – why the witch made the Gingerbread house, why the Step-mother didn't want Cinderella to go to the ball. A distorted, dark fairy tale without the happy ending – it made Blake a little sad, and every night he had to go home and replay that clip of Bane breaking the Doctor's neck on the news to remind him how distinctly inhuman he was.

'Well, obviously not,' Rosa huffed, bringing him back into reality. 'Bane's dead and Grace's buried herself in some school in the depths of rural England. But before all of that, they were… Kindred spirits.'

'And what changed?' Blake questioned, taking a sip of water and looking over the rim of his glass at Rosa. She had an ancient sadness to her – probably rooted from raising two boys who had grown into psychopaths. There would have to be something deeply damaging about that, Blake had mused.

'Around Christmas time in 1998, Grace went missing – some trouble her Dad got her into. A month after, so did Bane. Grace came back but he didn't – she wouldn't tell us where he was. Said she didn't know – but after that she was different. She'd always been such a light, lovely girl until she went missing. She closed off. Got… _hard_. Wouldn't tell no one what happened when the two of them were missing, not even the police. Only told her Dad. I hated her that – for not telling anyone where we could find our Bane, but she kept on telling us that it would be no good anyway, that we'd never find him. A couple of officers thought she'd murdered him – she came back covered in blood, you see – but there was never investigation. Besides, the blood wasn't his – we checked,' Rosa explained, nodding as if to reassure herself she'd said the right thing when she was done.

'And… what was Bane like when he was with Grace?'

Rosa smiled again – that same sad, lost little smile.

'There was always something off with Bane – we all knew it, though we never said anything. But when he was with Grace…' Rosa trailed off as she struggled to put her thoughts into words under Blake's close watch. Eventually she picked up, talking with her wrinkled hands more now, '…it was as if a darkness lifted. I never saw hi, happier than he was with her. She made him a better person.'

Blake nodded, popping his Dictaphone back into his pocket and standing.

'Thank you very much, Mrs Cartbright. It's been very helpful.'

He was nearly at the door when she beckoned him back, demanding he follow her into the sitting room and pulling at an old, frayed shoe box. Peeling off the lid she rootled through and produced an old videotape, slowly feeding it into the machine. Wordlessly, she pressed play with shaking fingers and leaned back, watching him rather than the screen.

After a blur of static an image flooded onto the screen, along with a noisy hum.

'_'Ello! It's the twelfth of November, 1998, and it is Agracianna Molony's seventeenth birthday!'_

The view tracked messily from an awkward but giggling blonde girl to a well-built teenage boy.

Blake's eyes went wide and he scrambled for the remote, his jaw slack as he pressed pause. He took in the similarities before anything else; same broad shoulders, same wide, navy eyes.

'That's him?' He breathed out incredulously, watching the old woman not out of the corner of his eyes. He crept a little closer, taking in the unscarred mouth and pretty-boy pouted lips. A touch of stubble graced his jaw and Blake couldn't believe how… How utterly _normal _he looked.

Pressing play, he watched the camera dodgily shake until it rested on a shelf of some sort, leaving a shot of Bane and a thin blonde together. Blake leaned closer, realising the girl next to him was Grace. She was beautiful in a fragile way, but it wasn't until her face broke into animation that he saw her for the woman he had had short glimpses of.

'And _Grace, how does it feel now that you're seventeen?_'

The blonde teenager sent her friend a disbelieving stare, only reacting when he poked at her side.

'_Exactly the same as it did yesterday,'_ she sighed, grinning to herself as Bane threw an arm around her waist and she stood on tiptoe to loop her own arm over his shoulder.

'_In conclusion, Grace is really, really fucking boring._' When the tiny girl tried to slip out of his grasp in mock offence, he snatched her arm and pulled her back. _'But,_' he elongated the word dramatically as Blake noticed his voice was almost unmatchable to the one he'd heard on the news for the past two years, _'we love her anyway.'_

_'I should hope so.'_

The video ended with the camera falling to the floor with a clunky thud as Bane threw Grace over his shoulder, both shrieking about birthday cake. There was a burst of static then a short, upside down shot of their backs, the pair's bare feet mingling as Grace dropped to the ground. Then the screen faded to black.

Blake found his fingers were over his mouth, trying to smother his shocked expression. He turned to see tears rolling down Rosa's cheeks as she told him thickly,

'She made him good, officer, made him human. The only crime she ever committed was giving him hope.'

**A/N: QUITE FRANKLY IMPRESSED I GOT THIS OUT.**

**Mounds of school work. Staying up to post you guys should be proud. [Song is 'Don't You Want to share the Guilt?' by Kate Nash].**

**Not much to say really. Last chapter had a really good response. DW, I am going to cover Grace's birthday a little more.**

**So what did you guys think about the hints of what's going to be happening in the certain future? Thoughts. BECAUSE CHRISTMAS TIME THAT'S SOON IN THIS TIME LINE IT'S ALL KICKING OFFFFF.**

**After the birthday chapter. That's your last properly happy one for a while guys.**

**Have fun.**

**(I like making my fans suffer who am I fucking Moffat?)**

(Also guys I am so fucking excited for Lawless I've made plans to go see it next weekend and I'm re-watching TDKR mainly to help with the plotting of this but also because I love it. SO YES I CANNOT WAIT.)


	14. Chapter 12

**_Man, oh man, you're my best friend_**

**_I scream it to the nothingness_**

**_Let me come Home_**

**_Home is whenever I'm with you_**

**_Home is when I'm alone with you_**

**_[Home: Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros] _**

* * *

Grace stood by Bane's battered people-carrier, arms crossed as she shivered and scowled to herself. Her thoughts were somewhere else entirely as he approached, throwing his arms around her in a playful hug. Pulling back, he studied her face; although a smile was playing across her face, he could see the worry that was tightening her jaw.

'Hey, what's wrong, birthday girl?' He asked as he took to unlocking his car, instinctively shrugging out of his jacket and handing it to Grace as the girl stood, shivering violently. She waited until she was in the battered up car to rootle through her bag, eventually presenting Bane with a few scraps of paper, her face drawn and solemn.

Bane's eyes flickered as he read quickly, a frown puckering his forehead as he eventually asked gently,

'Where did you find these?'

'One was taped to our front door last week and the other two were in my locker today.'

Grace forced herself to re-read the messages left for her, stomach dropping as she did so.

_£5,000. 20/12/1998._

_Whore._

_Happy Birthday. £5,000 by the 20__th__ December or we take you as payment._

Just reminding herself of the threat – and the random abuse thrown in for good measure – turned her face white and Grace was only pulled from her reverie by Bane's hand against hers.

'Hey. Don't worry about it – it's just a load of bullshit scare tactics. We'll forget about it for today and worry tomorrow morning, alright?'

Grace chewed at her lip for a moment before nodding, smiling weakly up at Bane.

They chattered away, flicking between radio stations and occasionally singing along – quite badly – to snippets of songs they knew. It wasn't a long drive home and they quickly pulled into a street almost as scabby as Grace's housing estate.

Pulling her quickly inside, Bane took the jacket from Grace, taking in what she was wearing for the first time.

'Hey, you look nice,' he smiled, noting the uneven hem on her navy dress and the slightly mis-matched, over-the-knee grey socks. She looked like a grown-up Pipi-Long-Stockings, Bane noted with a soft smile.

'Bloody freezing,' she snickered in response. 'I didn't have any clean tights.'

She was unsurprised when Bane bounded up the stairs, leaving her alone in the small hallway for a moment, announcing his return by throwing an oversized jumper at her head. Pulling it on and noting how the ends of the sleeves hung over her hands, she laughed and gave a small twirl.

'How do I look?' Grace asked teasingly, aware the huge jumper made her look ridiculous but grateful for its warmth and the lingering smell of Bane; cigarette smokes and cheap aftershave.

'You look beautiful,' he told her quietly, reaching forward to twitch one of her curls behind her ears. For a moment Grace froze, her mouth a little _o _of surprise when Bane realised what he'd said and started to flush red – but quickly she turned, asking loudly,

'Right. Where's this cake, then?'

He laughed, the moment immediately forgotten, then leaped forward to press his hands over his eyes, bringing a squeal from her. Hustling her forward into the kitchen he demanded she kept her eyes shut and ran to the fridge.

On Bane's command, Grace let her eyes flutter open and giggled as he messily poured a frothing liquid into two glasses.

'Is that _champaign_?' She asked incredulously, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, hurrying forward to the counter eagerly as he pushed a glass towards her.

'Yeah, we've got caviar chilling in the fridge too,' he scoffed, rolling his eyes at her and taking a swig. 'It's Lambrini, Lidl's finest.'

'Well, whatever. Happy birthday to me,' Grace told him, hauling a bottle of vodka from her bag and earning another eye roll from Bane as he tucked it away in a cupboard, promising her they'd drink it later.

The house was empty for the time being and for a while they just sat and talked. Grace sat cross-legged, looking remarkably fragile as her thin fingers wrapped around her glass, leaning on one arm of the sofa with Bane settled across from her. The alcohol loosened her tongue a bit and she was more animated, making sweeping gestures with her hands as she spoke. They flicked between the trivial and serious; Grace explaining everything from her favourite – some ridiculous-sounding rap record Bane had never heard of – to why she had moved schools – because her classmates had found out Molony was her Father and teased her mercilessly. Surprisingly, Grace found she couldn't get anything out of Bane about his childhood – he subtly but determinedly avoided the subject and Grace, remembering Charlie's description of _traumatic_, knew not to push it any further.

Eventually Rosa returned home just as the pair were starting on the vodka, quickly followed by Paul and four wild, rambunctious children. A couple were those Grace had seen before in the café but others had obviously moved on to permanent homes, and she smiled at all of them and the gruff but caring way Bane treated them.

It was after more drinking and cake – and the morning after Grace faintly remembered mucking around with a video camera – that Grace noticed the video player and telly nestled into a corner. She studied it delightedly for a few moments before turning to Bane, a smile on her face.

'I don't think I've watched a video since year seven geography.'

It was a childish excitement on Grace's face as she whipped round to address Bane, and he had to stop himself from telling her she looked beautiful again. Instead he distracted himself, feigning shock when she admitted she'd never seen _The Lion King_, the tape that was already in the machine. The house had slowly fallen quiet around them and Bane realised how late it was, thankful that Grace's birthday fell on a Friday and they wouldn't have to go to school hungover the next day. The lights switched off and Grace's gentle features were distorted by the flickering lights of the television, the constant glow of a cigarette flittering around her face as she chain smoked. Although Bane teased that sometimes Grace could pass for a twelve year old, sat next to him she looked old beyond her years, curled gracefully against the cushions of the sofa. Eventually, after she had smoked her way through half a dozen roll-ups, she stubbed out the last butt and threw her tin on the table. Shifting position, she rested her head against Bane's arm, not really taking in what was happening on the screen.

'Tired, little one?' He asked gruffly. She nodded, letting out a yawn as if to prove her point, and was surprised when Bane shifted and slid his own arm around her shoulder, allowing her to lean against him. She always expected Bane to be cold but he had a comforting warmth to his skin as she let her arm snake around his torso, unashamedly setting herself up to fall asleep on him. Through the thick fog of her near-sleep, she felt his free hand rest over hers, fingers mingling together. As she shifted contentedly, he pressed a gentle kiss onto the top of her head, murmuring,

'Night, Grace.'

'Goodnight, Bane,' she mumbled thickly in return. Slowly, he felt her breathing even out as she succumbed to sleep, hair falling over her face. Tucking the loose curls behind her ear, he returned to _The Lion King_, having already lost track of the plot, distracted by the girl at his side.

* * *

Bane awoke a couple of hours later to the sound of a baby crying. At first he was wildly disorientated, before remembering the young Caroline, who had come to the Cartwrights for two weeks before a Care Home out of London could be found for her. Gently shifting Grace until she was leant against a pillow rather than his chest, he rose to stop the young child's crying before it could wake Rosa and Paul.

Grace awoke a few minutes later, still half-drunk. Irritably, she peeled off a few layers of clothes, eventually leaving her in Bane's over-sized jumper, her underwear and socks. Padding silently across the sitting room, missing his warmth, she came to a stop outside the kitchen door. Peering through a crack in the doorway, she watched him feed the baby, gently talking nonsense to it as he did. Grace's face broke out into a grin at the scene; the child looked tiny compared to Bane's muscled frame, and he handled the infant with a delicacy he usually saved for Grace.

'Did she wake you up?'

For a moment Grace thought Bane was talking to her, until he saw a young boy whose name she couldn't remember drifting across the small kitchen. Rubbing at his eyes, he shrugged and mumbled something about nightmares.

'Want me to do the voice?' He asked, a slight smile to his features that sparked Grace's curiosity as the boy responded with a sleepy grin and a nod. Putting on a deep voice with a rolling, rich accent Grace couldn't pin down, Bane started up, _'once upon a time there was a young boy who wouldn't go the fuck to sleep.'_

This earned a chortle from the young boy as Bane continued, _'he was having nightmares about aliens coming to earth raping him. Or should I say it was a wet dream –'_

Bane was cut off by a sharp jab to the arm from the boy, which resulted in some more muffled banter until Bane sent the child back to bed.

Grace couldn't take her mind off the odd voice Bane had put on; whilst it was clearly a running joke amongst the family, it set Grace's teeth on edge. It wasn't just the unfamiliar accent; Bane's voice took on a hard edge, as if the way his voice changed connected to a darker time in his life he didn't like to remember too often.

'Nice voice. It sounds like Zazu when he gets stuck under that rhino,' Grace commented dryly, padding silently into the kitchen. For a moment he looked nearly offended – but then Bane forced himself to crack a smile.

'Sorry – it's a bit mad here,' Bane told Grace quietly as she slid the baby from his arms and cradled Caroline, who had begun to settle down.

'No, I love it,' Grace told him, tilting her head to one side and glancing around the cosy kitchen. 'Feels like home.' She watched Bane grin and let out her own breathy laugh. 'So the voice – where's that from?'

'My parents are both English but we lived in the Caribbean for a while, before I came here. I got teased though, so when I came to England I picked up this accent pretty quickly.'

Grace nodded, staring down at the little baby who shifted in her arms. She could sense Bane was holding back, not telling her everything, but he had barely mentioned his childhood before – she didn't want to push her luck.

'So it's technically yesterday's tomorrow morning now,' Grace started up, 'and I have a theory as to how a bunch of drug-dealers got a note into my locker.'

Making sure she had Bane's full attention she pulled Caroline up to rest against her chest. 'I saw Tamara talking to some blokes in the car park yesterday –'

'Grace,' Bane cut in, his voice a low warning.

'No, listen! She's hated me since the first day of school when you stopped her from fighting me – she probably thought it was a joke. Maybe they paid her, too – I'm just saying. I… I've been getting more, different notes,' she explained slowly. 'They've all been in the same handwriting, popping up in my locker, where I sit in lessons.'

'What do they say?' Bane asked edgily, taking a step forwards as Grace let out a weak laugh.

'Oh, you know, the standard – _slut, bitch_. Like the one I showed you earlier. One though, um…' Grace trailed off, trying not to let the years well in her eyes. 'One said _drug mule_.'

Bane stepped forward, unsure of himself as he graces his knuckles against the edge of her jaw, feeling the tremble there as her eyes drifted shut. She took some comfort from the warmth of his fingers, dragging a long breath in.

'It's alright. I can talk to Tamara if you want – and the stuff from the drug dealers, it's all empty threats. They know if they kidnapped a teenage girl the police would be all over them; they wouldn't want to risk that. Alright?'

Grace nodded, her eyes tired as Bane smiled at her. Letting out an almighty yawn, she told him as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world,

'I think you're my best friend, Bane.'

His face broke out into a grin as he stepped forward and cupped her chin – a friendly, brotherly gesture now, his fingers trailing down to run against her neck.

'You should get some sleep, Grace,' he chuckled, taking the baby from her and gently sending her on her way, trying to ignore the swing of her hips as she walked away. Grace paused in the doorway, turning to lean against the frame and lick her lips. Pushing her hand through her hair, she looked up at him, reactions sluggish. For a moment she couldn't meet his eye, instead fiddling with the hem of the jumper she was wearing. It pulled up to her hip so he could see a flash of black, cotton underwear, turning his mouth dry as she started up,

'You look good with that baby. It looks – natural, you know?'

He stared after her, confusion written all over his face as he heard the kitchen door shut.

* * *

An hour later he was kneeling by the girl tossing and turning on the sofa, her quiet whimpering the only sign she was having nightmares. As her hand flew out, nearly catching him in the face, his gentle pressure on her knuckles apparently became soothing as she quietened.

When Rosa, awoken by the quiet creaks of the sofa rattling under Grace's body, came down to see why Bane wasn't in bed, she found him pushing Grace's hair from her damp forehead.

'Now Bane, don't you go falling in love with that poor girl,' Rosa told him sternly, her voice a hard whisper. Bane turned slightly to smile at her, his hand lingering slightly at her cheek.

'She makes me good, Mum,' he told her softly, standing slowly and looking down at the small girl tucked into the sofa cushions. 'She takes the edge off. She's my best friend.'

**A/N: **

**This chapter is dedicated to 'Moon Surfer', who sent me a hilarious and awesome review! I promise you, I am not being a Moffat and teasing!**

**Why it's been such a long wait: SCHOOL. I have to think about retakes and I want to do an ethics paper early which basically means I have to do a shit-load of work. I have been super busy all week since I had prefect training Monday-Tuesday and then school Wednesday-Friday.**

**BUT. I was determined to get a chapter out since I just saw Lawless! Tom Hardy was GREAT (as was Dane DeHaan, I loved his character so much!). The scripting was great and the story tried to do too much at once, making it a bit choppy but Tom Hardy was beautiful and lovely and ugh. (Jessica Chastain was crap. Very flat. Get away from my man.)**

**You can read a full review here:**

** iamabondurant. tumblr post/ 31142948636/ lawless-a-review**

**just remove the spaces! (Hopefuly that should work)**

**Also if you like you can follow me on Tumblr: my url is iamabondurant and I blog A LOT of Tom Hardy ;) **

**So I hope you liked this chapter. I feel it was too choppy and not great but lots of fluff and oooh mystery about Bane's past (slowly building that up but ALL WILL BE REVEALED sort of soon).**

**Next time:**

**_Grace and Tamara have an altercation that results in a painful moment for Grace, and there's a horrific revelation about Bane._**

**Please review! I love hearing from you guys! **

**(p.s. I typed up this chapter whilst raving to 'White Light White Heat' cover from the Lawless soundtrack. LISTEN TO IT AND COPY MY LOVELY HEAD BOBBING.)**

**(p.p.s. if you want to understand all the Lion King references and who the mysterious 'Zazu' is, go and watch 'I just can't wait to be king' on youtube. Skip to about 15 seconds from the end when the bird is stuck under the rhino... Sound familiar? ;) )**


	15. Chapter 13

_There will be healing but don't force this girl to stand_

_As she's counting the ceilings with pale voice and trembling hands_

Slowly, Bane and Grace's social lives grew ever closer until all other friends, worlds – everything – had melted away. For a few weeks there was only an intense obsession with each other; they would wait for one another outside classrooms, leave notes inside each other's lockers. One day when Bane was sick with a virus she felt as if she'd lost a limb. Grace slowly but surely became a more permanent fixture in the Cartwright household, sticking around for some meals and often staying for the night – camping out on the floor of Bane's room rather than the sofa. Over the short space of a term they had become inseparable, and a day wouldn't go by where Grace wouldn't be seen wearing the thickly knitted scarf and gloves Bane had bought her for her birthday. Of course the maths tutoring sessions became free – though Grace was half-pleased, half-frustrated to find that, when he applied himself, he was actually far better than she was, and he had somehow learned so much French from his little phrase book the only thing she could do was tutor him on his still-atrocious accent.

They were inseparable, and people were beginning to notice.

* * *

'It's Christmas soon! Bane… _Bane_. Aren't you excited?'

'Some little guy who doesn't exist magically burst from a prude bitch's vadge, big fucking deal.'

Grace blinked heavily – so Bane _really _didn't like Christmas.

'I'm pretty sure any passing Christians just died of shock. So you don't like Christmas then?'

Something in Bane's eyes flashed darkly and she flinched back, he not noticing as they sat on the bench. They were outside, despite the freezing weather, fed up of the cloying nature of their fellow students. Blowing on her num fingers to warm them up as she ate, she smiled when Bane rolled his eyes at her and clasped her hands in between his.

'You should come to the Christmas dinner,' Bane smiled as they sat facing each other, the sky turning a chilled grey around them.

'The what?' Grace queried, curling her fingers up in Bane's grasp, delicately stroking along his palms as they spoke.

'Christmas dinner. You pay a fiver and get a cooked dinner in the dining hall – then they clear all the tables for a dance. It's like a shittier version of Prom.'

Grace tilted her head to one side, considering it, weighing up between bills and food shopping, how much money she had to spare that month.

'Is it on Christmas day?'

'No – who would come to school on Christmas day? It's on the evening of the last day of school – somebody usually puts vodka in the squash.' Bane paused, a small smirk coming over him. 'That someone is usually me – I need an accomplice. Do you want me to pick you up before?'

Grace nodded.

'Sure. Why not?'

* * *

It was lunchtime and Grace had absolutely no clue where Bane was. Walking down the hallway blindly, Grace stared at the scrap of paper someone had slipped into her bag.

_GRACE MOLONY. TELL YOUR FATHER HE HAS TWO DAYS TO PAY HIS DEBTS. IF NOT, WE'LL BE SEEING YOU VERY SOON_.

Walking numbly down the corridor, she almost missed the snide, cruel voice saying, _just _loud enough for Grace to hear,

'That Bane's a fucking _psychopath_.

Stopping stock still, Grace turned to stare at the source of the comment, jaw clenching. Of _course _it would be Tamara – the girl seemed to have some inescapable feeling of hatred towards Grace, quite possibly fuelled by jealousy at seeing her ex-boyfriend getting so attached to the new girl.

'What did you say?' Grace asked, her voice low, eyes suddenly dark. A few kids in the younger years stopped momentarily, dull interest flashing in their eyes, before moving on. Tamara flicked dark, pretty eyes at the small girl, sending a sneer to her two friends.

'Sorry, I forgot you're his little bitch –'

'He's _not _a psychopath,' Grace snarled, face flushing red. Tamara blanched on seeing the fury in Grace's curled fists – but her harsh laughter shocked Grace in return.

'Oh, I _see_ now. Why you're so _obsessed_. You're _both _fucking mental –'

Tamara was interrupted by Grace slamming her up against the locker, the reverberating sounds rushing up and down the hallway, gathering a crowd. Taking the opportunity to hiss into the girl's ear, Grace tried to battle down the rising sense of blinded fury.

'_You're _the one who's been giving me their notes, aren't you? Are they paying you –'

Before she could get her answers, Grace felt two sets of hands wrench both her arms back, hauling her away from Tamara and keeping her there, struggling furiously in the hallway. Her swearing ripped through the air as she tried to wrench her arms free, kicking into empty air.

'You know, he hit me once.'

Grace turned silent, falling limp in her captor's arms as every inhabitant of the corridor took on a nervous, unsure edge. Grace went white as she stared up at the girl, her feet scrabbling slightly for purchase.

'We were having a fight – about _you_, actually – and he just outright back-handed me,' Tamara continued, the straight-forward, almost formal way she told the story sounding like a surreal news report.

'You're lying,' Grace spat out, even as she heard the sad edge Tamara's words were hiding. Squeezing her eyes shut, Grace remembered vaguely the day Tamara walked into maths with a black eye, just after the pair had broken up. Remembered the way Tamara had flinched as Bane had shuffled by her. At that moment, Grace thought she might throw up.

'He'll do the same to you,' Tamara told her quietly, pulling Grace's chin into a vice grip, wrenching her face up to meet her hard stare. 'When someone newer and prettier than you rocks up.'

'No,' Grace explained hoarsely, without really thinking. 'No – I'm special –'

In the high school films Grace had seen, fights between girls always went the same way; they'd slap each other's faces and pull at each other's hair for a bit, not causing any real damage, and then a teacher would magically appear and pull them apart. She had never expected anything like this; her knees buckling as Tamara punched her in the stomach. Her pained cries reaching out into the silent corridor as punches and slaps ran to and fro across her face. This had none of the campy drama of those fights on films; there were no teenage boys guffawing and cheering. Neither did it have the edgy, harsh energy of a fight between two brawling boys; the crowds were utterly silent as they watched the harsh beating.

Eventually Grace was released, falling forward, crumpled on the floor. Blood pooled from the corner of her mouth. A couple of passing year tens helped her up, once the corridor had largely cleared of people; she thanked them quickly but brushed them off as she headed towards the nurse's office.

It wasn't until the tears started rolling down her face that she realised how much she needed Bane, and wondered where the bloody hell he was.

* * *

Bane had, in fact, used the lunch break to pick up a long overdue order of Jonathan's from Molony.

Standing outside the door, something inside him flushed hotly as he remembered what he'd been doing up against this door last time he'd been here. Banishing all thoughts of Grace's lips, or smell, or the feel of her skin momentarily brushing against his, he knocked on the door.

It took a few moments for Molony to recognise him and he gruffly folded his arms across his chest.

'Grace isn't here and she doesn't want no trouble –'

'I'm just here to pick up. For Jonathan Crane. Besides, Grace and I are friends now.'

When Molony's dubious look faded, Bane breathed a sigh of relief.

'Come on in.'

Molony was surprisingly coherent that day – usually he was a mumbling mess, all shaking hands and stuttering. Holding open the door for the bulky boy before him, Molony tapped his nose in a seemingly meaningless gesture and tottered away – the man was obviously more drugged up than Bane had first assumed.

'Tell young Jonathan I couldn't get any of those hallucinogenics he was asking for, but I know someone who does,' the drug dealer called over his shoulder as he crossed into a dark, dank-smelling bedroom, reappearing moments later to hand Bane a scrap of paper with a telephone number messily scrawled across it. Molony scratched at the back of his head nervously, obviously wanting to ask something; it took him a while to pluck up the courage, however, leaving the pair to stare awkwardly at one another.

'You're Grace's friend, aint-cha?' Molony eventually forced out uneasily, carrying on after Bane's nod, 'her good friend?'

'_Yes_,' Bane replied unsurely, wondering where the man was heading with this.

'Well – what are you doing on the 20th?' Molony pressed. Bane considered the question, eventually remembering the date from all the notes Grace had been getting. The date Molony's debt was due.

'Not much – it's the last day of school,' Bane shrugged, watching closely as Molony started knotting his fingers together.

'Could you – ah, could you maybe – just, keep an eye on her? You know, walk her home and all that?'

Bane refrained from smiling – Molony was, in equal parts, a good and shit father.

'Sure. Sure thing.'

Molony practically bobbed gratefully, wobbling his way over to a kitchen cupboard.

As he waited, Bane's gaze was drawn to a small photo frame on one of the counter tops. In it was a grainy photograph of a beautiful blonde woman – clearly high as the photo was being taken, her pupils dilated and her lips softly parted. It took a moment for Bane to see the similarities and realise it was Grace's mother.

'Molony?' He called over his shoulder, not looking away from the photograph. 'How long ago did Grace's mother leave?'

Molony straightened from his search as if his next sentence were a knee-jerk response, telling Bane solemnly,

'Natalie left us when Grace was even.'

Bane nodded slowly, not noticing how stiffly Molony's words were coming out as he pushed,

'Why did she leave?'

Molony swallowed loudly, clearing his throat a few times before eventually murmuring,

'Drug overdose.'

It took a few moments for the two words to process, but once they had, Bane stiffened as the photo frame fell back onto the counter top with a noisy clatter. Still keeping his back to Molony, he asked in a low voice,

'Excuse me?'

'Natalie – my wife – she… She died of a drug overdose when Grace was seven. Grace was the one who found her,' Molony explained, voice tight. He was quickly brought out of his own solemn moment, however, as Bane turned, breathing heavily through his nose, fists clenched.

'But – but Grace told me she still saw her mum at lunchtimes,' Bane told Molony, his voice hard and frustrated, anger already flushed through him.

'I think she goes to the grave quite often during school hours,' Molony explained gently, seeing the hard glint in Bane's eye.

The door bounced from its hinges as the teenager slammed its way out of the flat, Molony watching after him with his head cocked to one side.

_Wonder what's gotten that one so rattled, _Molony shrugged, gently making sure the door was properly shut before listening to the horse races on the radio.

* * *

He hadn't gone to the graveyard to search Grace out; he'd just wanted to see the grave, to confirm the lie. Something in his stomach dropped, however, when he found the small figure sat pathetically by the grave, head bowed and hugging her knees. He'd expected it to be raining at a time like this but instead there was a biting cold, sending shivers wracking down Grace's body. He did not offer her his jacket, watching her tense up as she sensed him behind her.

'Visiting a dead relative? Or did Molony tell you?' Grace asked coldly, something hollow in her voice. It was starting to snow.

'Molony,' he snapped back, watching the girl straighten slowly into standing, still not looking at him but staring down at the grave. 'Grace, look at me,' he told her, voice low and dangerous. When she ignored him, shivering in the snow, he pulled her around in a fit of frustration.

Any words he might have said died in his throat as he took in the injuries that covered her face. A swollen black eye, split lip, a cut just by the hairline; all the wounds marred her otherwise white face, her icy clue eyes standing out a mile, lips purple with cold.

Something chilled and nauseating spread about his stomach, and eventually there was nothing he could do but burst outwards.

'_Jesus, _Grace!' He ground out, grabbing her chin roughly to inspect her face, twisting this way and that. 'I… I don't even know where to _fucking _start with you!'

'Well, there's the fact that I just got in a fight with your psychotic ex-girlfriend –'

'_Tamara _did this to you?' Bane cried, pulling his hand away as if she were burning him.

'I started it. She called you a psychopath.'

Bane twisted away, staring edgily out across the graveyard, blinking snow from his eyelashes as he tried to sort the turmoil out in his mind.

'You can't just go around attacking people because they said something _a bit rude _about the people you care about –'

'Do you even _hear _yourself?' Grace cried, abruptly outraged as she took a frustrated towards Bane. 'That is _exactly _what _you _do!'

'Yeah, but the difference is I'm six foot two and weigh eleven and a half stone – _you're _five five and considerably underweight,' placing his hand on her shoulder heavily, Bane met her hard glare as he told her, 'there will _always _be people bigger and stronger than you who can hurt you.'

'So what, I should just sit there silently and back down every time?' Grace spat, folding her arms against the cold as her teeth began to chatter violently.

'That's not what I'm saying –'

'Then what _are _you saying? That I should let you fight my battles? I can't do that – I can't live with some constant… _protector _by my side! If the world worked like that every woman under eleven stone would have to be fucking _chaperoned _in case she falls over a bloody paving stone!'

Until this point, Grace had been furious – but Bane almost flinched as her defensive, hunched shoulders slumped. Hands dangling limply by her side in a new, hollow voice, not meeting his gaze,

'And what about the times when I'm fighting you, hmm? Who'll look after me then?'

'Grace, I'd _never _hurt you –'

'Is that what you told her, too?'

Her voice rang out over the graveyard as Bane turned white, nostrils flaring as the two glared at each other. An odd churning started somewhere in his stomach and a distant, separated part of him was aware Grace had started to cry.

'Whatever she told you –'

'Look me in the eye and tell me it's not true,' she interrupted quietly, taking his fingers and lacing them between hers. '_Please _tell me it's not true.'

Ripping his hands away, Bane stared numbly at a spot over her shoulder, waiting for the moment she'd see he couldn't deny what she'd asked of him. It came with a broken sob as she covered her mouth with one icy hand.

'There's only so many times I can – I can… _Christ_,' Grace choked out, wiping at her eyes furiously – all action cut off when Bane snatched at her elbow, dragging her towards him. Shaking her slightly in frustration, he snarled down at her,

'_You_? You can _what_? Grace, you _lied _to me, all this time, about your mum. You're supposed to be my best friend and you decided it was _okay _to lie about that sort of thing?'

There was a moment of shaken silence as Grace took in a noisy, catching breath, her body rigid with fear. Something was trying to break through the thick skin of fear she was feeling as Bane's grip tightened round her elbow; it took her a while to realise a swarm of anger was trying to overwhelm her in the same way it threatened to overwhelm Bane. She trembled as she spoke,

'I was ashamed, alright? I just wanted one thing in my life to be a bit normal. Everyone thought we were _scum _when they found out how she died – and you seemed to idolise me as this… As this picture of innocence! This girl who had everything together in her life despite the shittiness. I wanted to give you… Hope.' Grace stared down at the ground, chewing at her lip as Bane's grip loosened slightly on her elbow. 'But I'm not the only person who's lied here, Bane!'

'I've _never _lied to you!' He protested angrily, only to have Grace's gaze flick up at him, eyes so full of hurt he wondered if this was something else – something _more _than Tamara.

But he blinked away the possibility because if _that _were true – if she knew _everything _– she wouldn't be here, still talking to him now.

She would be running and screaming.

'Sometimes it's the things we forget to say, Bane,' she told him cryptically, gently pulling her elbow free as tears streamed more freely down her face.

She left him stood by her mother's grave, shoulders slumped as he stared numbly down at his snow-covered feet.

**A/N:**

**Well those two were a bit intense, weren't they! Ooer. **

**Sorry it's been so long. I've had a really frankly exhausting time with school and lots of problems there but I'm back on track with all this.**

**Please, if you enjoyed, write a review! This upload is EXTRA long to pacify all those of you still reading!**

_Next time: Christmas dinners, the twentieth of December and the drug dealers finally catch up with Grace…_


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